Didn't Know You Cared
by Die Schreiber
Summary: Harry had a difficult summer after his second year at Hogwarts, and hopes it will all be better once school starts. Snape had a relaxing summer away from Hogwarts, and isn't looking forward to third year Potions much. The new school year holds interesting events indeed. -Warnings inside-
1. Chapter 1

**AN**: So I'll make this short and sweet.

This story starts out a lot slower.

I have this story for the most part planned out, so updates should be regularly, though this one took me one week to write, I'd assume updates to be every two to three weeks. Sooner if the muse is generous.

This is AU, an eventual Snape mentors (and possible adopts) Harry. I tried to stay book canon, but some things are nearly impossible.

I do not have a beta, so please be kind. I do take corrective criticism though :D

**Warning**: This deals with child abuse. Not as graphic as some of the stories I've read, but not intended for younger viewers. Please be warned it is not a light topic that this story contains.

**Disclaimer**: I in no way own this story, its characters, or anything else. I am not making money off this story, it is purely fandom pleasure. Thank you.

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><p>-<strong>Chapter One<strong>-

=Just Not His Luck=

The Dursley family prided themselves on their normal, albeit well off, lives. They had a perfectly normal son, who was thirteen this year. At the beginning of summer, Dudley returned to their home from his private school, not that much thinner than when he had left the previous year. Petunia Dursley, the matriarch of the household, fawned over her son who complained that he had been 'starved' at the school.

"That's my boy," Vernon said proudly as he looked up from his newspaper. "Got it in 'im to stay strong even if they put you down, right my boy?" He smiled.

"Well, mummy won't let you starve this summer," Petunia had replied. Thus Dudley spent every waking moment perched on a seat at the kitchen table.

Harry sat opposite Dudley, swinging his foot back and forth and waiting quietly for his aunt to announce his next chore. He scuffed the side of his shoe against the linoleum floor, freezing at the sound, and waited for the very angry telling off.

When nothing happened, Harry looked from the telly to his aunt and uncle, who both were too busy to notice the other boy in the room. He let a small sigh of relief escape his lips, and returned his gaze back to the dull show that the rest of the 'normal' family seemed to like.

Harry was not considered normal by the Dursleys; not by a long shot. When his parents had died when he was a baby, they had taken the boy in, as Petunia was his last living relative. He was abnormal, even as an infant, causing things to happen without physical contact. In recent years, especially before receiving his acceptance letter to Hogwarts, weird things happened more and more often. As punishment, Harry was locked up, sometimes starved, and often spanked or slapped when these occurrences happened.

Thankfully, his studies at Hogwarts helped prevent him from accidentally causing things to happen.

"Do the dishes," Petunia said pointedly to Harry, shaking him from his thoughts. She motioned him towards the sink, where the breakfast dishes sat, waiting for Harry. She moved from the kitchen, giving her son a quick kiss on the head, which Dudley didn't notice, before she gathered the keys and bag. "I'll be back shortly, just running to the market." She gave Vernon a quick peck on the cheek, glancing towards Harry with a sharp look. "I expect those done before I come back." She turned and began walking out, only to pause by the cupboard, Harry's old cupboard, and added, "I also want this place vaccumed. It's a mess." She turned her nose up and proceeded out the door.

"Yes, ma'am." Harry replied quietly, almost silently. As angry as he felt, as much as they drove him insane, he would keep his opinion to himself; at least until they went too far. A wry smile spread across his face as he finished scrubbing the plates and silverware. He rinsed them off in lukewarm water and set them on a towel to dry, then began on the cups and cookware. If he really wanted, he could tell them off, he didn't _have_ to live there. In fact, he could walk out that door right now.

As appealing as the thought was, though, Harry knew better. He had nowhere else to go, really. He could ask the Weasley's. Their youngest son, Ron, was his best friend. They would welcome him, he was sure, with open arms; he only needed to ask. But they didn't have that much money. Harry reasoned they probably had just enough to be comfortable. They didn't need another teenage boy, growing like a weed, intruding on their lives and making it even more difficult. He was happy for them, having read in the Daily Prophet that they had won not only gold, but a trip to Egypt. They deserved a little extra money, but he knew it wasn't enough to get them that far ahead.

Harry hand dried the cups with another towel, his smile now a frown. The Dursley's could afford him, no matter what they said.

"Quit taking your time, boy." Vernon announced suddenly, shaking Harry (yet again) from his thoughts. He hurried the last of the dishes, though making sure they were spotless, and walked out of the kitchen.

Vernon's watchful eye followed the boy to the living area, where he promptly began vacuuming the carpeted areas of the house.

It was nearly half an hour later before Harry finished, wiping sweat from his head onto the forearm of his shirt. He heard the car pulling up and quickly deposited the vacuum back into its place, returning to the kitchen to put the now dry dishes in their places.

Petunia opened the door, a bag in her arm, and set her keys and bag on the table stand. "There's more in the car," she looked at Harry.

He nodded, walking to the car and gathering the other bags and returned to the kitchen.

"It's still early. Why don't you call your friend over for a snack, Dudley?" Petunia asked, putting breakfast cornflakes into the cupboard above the plates.

Dudley replied with a grunt and a wave of his hand.

The phone rang, apparently in the middle of an important part of the show, because Dudley's face went red and he told it to shut up.

"It can't hear you," Harry replied shortly.

Dudley turned to glare at Harry as Petunia answered it.

Vernon stood from his chair, his face pinched, and walked(or more like waddled) towards Harry. "You think you're so smart, eh boy?" He grabbed the boy's ever messy hair pulling it back so Harry's face was directly in his own.

"No, sir." Harry replied, staring his uncle in the eye.

"Then why are you telling my boy what is and is not. Getting too big for your britches, are you?"He said.

"Kinda hard when I don't even fit his." Harry spat.

His uncle slammed him into the wall, causing lights to dance in front of his eyes.

"Vernon," Petunia hissed, glancing to the open window. If someone walked by, they would have a clear view as to what was going on.

The purple faced man led Harry from the kitchen down the hall, out of eyesight of anyone. "When you earn your keep around here, boy, then you'll eat proper meals."

"I do more than you!" Harry yanked himself from his uncle's grip and started towards the stairs.

A sharp tug on his pant leg sent him sprawling face first into the stairs. Harry wiped his mouth on his forearm, tasting blood, but wasn't sure if it was from his tongue, which he'd bitten, or his lip, which he knew was split.

Vernon glared at the boy, unsure what to do. He'd knocked some sense into the boy a few times, (and by knocking sense into him, he'd slapped the boy across the face and on occasion thrown him. It wasn't really his fault if the boy couldn't catch himself before running into something.) "Into your room. And I don't want to see hide nor hair from you till I tell you to come down. I have half a mind to put some more sense into your head," he shook his fat fist in the boy's face.

"Go ahead!" Harry finally broke. " Knock some sense into me! See what happens!"

"Are you threatening me!" Vernon bellowed, pulling Harry to himself by the collar of his oversized shirt.

Harry suddenly felt stupid for provoking his uncle, sure that this time would be the time his uncle would leave him a mess.

Harry's determined stance, his 'come get me' face, fell.

"Vernon," Petunia hissed, tugging on the man's sleeve and glancing towards the door. "I think Dudley's friend will be here shortly. I'll see him to his room."

Vernon let go of Harry's shirt, causing the boy to fall with a thump onto the stairs.

"Next time it'll be my belt, boy." He threatened before turning from Harry and making his way back to the kitchen.

Harry stood, wiping his lip again on his shirt. 'It was my lip, then.' He thought.

"In your room," Petunia said. She followed the now silent boy up the stairs into Dudley's spare room, locking a few of the locks on the door after he entered the room. "And keep that bird quiet," she said, then left.

Harry sat on the rather uncomfortable bed, moving around until he found a spot where the springs weren't pressing painfully into his bottom.

He waited until he heard the telly turn up downstairs before he loosened the board in the floor and pulled a quill and some parchment out.

Hedwig had yet to return from Ron or Hermione's, so he didn't really have anything to reply to.

He pulled the stopper from the ink and dipped the quill in a few times, but couldn't think of anything to write.

He pressed the quill to the paper, the black ink bleeding into the page, and just started writing. He didn't know what really, the sentences didn't make much sense, but when he stopped he felt slightly better.

Exausted, or perhaps the first signs of a concussion (his uncle had shoved him pretty hard into the solid wall) Harry made his way to his bed. He pulled the shabby bedclothes back far enough to crawl in and lay down, closing his eyes. Almost instantly, he was asleep.

When Harry woke the last vestiges of the sun were peaking through his curtains, and one such ray had slipped across his eyes. At first he felt warm, thinking he was back at Hogwarts and the sun was just rising. Then, as he fully woke, the pain in his lip and the throbbing in his head told him otherwise.

Springs pressed uncomfortably into his back, and his stomach rumbled in hunger.

"I'm still here." Harry muttered bitterly. He sat up, pausing and rethinking what he'd said. He wasn't sure how he'd meant it, but the darker meaning didn't seem so silly. He slowly pushed the bedclothes back and shifted so his feet hung off the edge of the bed. He tenderly touched a finger to his lip and winced, sighing as his hand fell back to the mattress.

Hearing footsteps come up the stairs, or more precisely very heavy footsteps, Harry rushed to hide his the ink, quill, and parchment underneath his bed. He heard the locks clicking, one by one, and deftly slipped the loose board back into its place; not a moment too soon.

"Out here, boy," Vernon pushed the door open. He glared, "Hurry up. Bring Marge's bags inside."

Harry obeyed, ignoring the sudden wave of vertigo, and walked out of his room. He held tightly to the rail down the stairs, and kept his arm out in case he fell.

"Ah, so the boy does peek his head out." He heard Marge's cynical voice. "I would hope this school you send him to would teach him manners. Sorely lacking, I'd say. What school did you say you sent him to?"

"Saint Brutus's," Vernon said promptly. "It's a first rate institution for hopeless cases."

Harry fumed on his way to his room. He pushed roughly past his aunt and cousin and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Marge really did have a way with words; especially the ones that stung when she said them. Harry was used to it, though, and left it at that…. for the most part. He had gotten really angry when she said some things, he wasn't even sure he remembered what they were he was so mad.

Vernon had made the promise to come up and talk to him once the night ended.

Harry looked forward to the 'chat.'

Squinting through his smudged and broken glasses, Harry tried reading one of his textbooks.

Harry jumped when he heard the locks on his door being turned; he flew to the floor, forgetting his book on the bed, and put the plank back in its place.

The door opened and Harry stood quickly.

"What're you standing in the middle of the room for, boy?" Vernon asked, a scowl on his face.

Harry shrugged. "I was surprised…" He froze. In his uncles hand was a belt, folded together by the ends, and gripped tightly in his sausage like fingers.

"Marge had a wonderful idea," Vernon said, remaining in the doorway, leaving Harry with nowhere to go. "Your punishment, I mean. You see, she doesn't realize that you are a freak, and the glass wasn't her fault." His voice got dangerously low. "Shirt off and turn around."

Any other time, Harry would have laughed him off. Any other time, he would have thought his uncle was just in a fit of anger, that he couldn't control himself; but his uncle was calm, his breathing rather even. That scared Harry worse than anything. It wasn't as if he were angry, or suddenly violent. He was planning to do this, and Harry knew, to make it 'memorable'.

As much as he wanted to bolt out of the room, he obeyed, slipping the too-large shirt over his head and tossing it onto the bed and turned around. He closed his eyes, prepared for the worst.

The first time the belt made contact with his back surprised him, but he didn't know if it was from the loud smack or the sudden pain.

The second one slammed across his other shoulder; Harry tried concentrating on something, anything, but all he could do was anticipate the next blow (they came irregularly, as if Uncle Vernon was amused at watching the boy flinch at nothing) and hope it would end soon.

"Maybe that'll make you think twice about using your freakish abilities in my house again." Vernon finally said, slightly out of breath. He had put a lot of muscle behind the blows, intending for a lasting effect that Harry would not soon forget.

Tears ran down the boy's cheeks and he shuddered, holding back a sob.

"Put your shirt on. You have twenty minutes in the bathroom. If you don't finish washing then I don't care if you go to bed with soap still in your hair."

Harry obeyed, grabbing his shirt and slowly putting it on. The fabric scratched against his back and he hissed slightly.

"What's that?"

Harry glanced to his uncle before he looked to where the portly man was looking: on his bed.

"A, uh, book on p-politics… or something," Harry replied quickly, praying his uncle would leave it at that.

His luck was never that kind, though, and Vernon walked forward, picking the rather large book up.

"Potions?" He spat, whirling on Harry.

Before Harry knew what was happening, his uncle had grabbed him by the shoulder, digging his fingers into the fresh welts, and shoved the boy backwards.

He tried to catch his balance, but tripped on his own feet and fell backwards. His hand shot out automatically, causing a fresh wave of pain to shoot across his back, and tried to turn midair.

His hand met the ground and he felt a snap in his wrist. He curled on the floor in agony, not sure which one hurt worse, but positive he was about to vomit from the overload.

Uncle Vernon stood there in shock for a moment. By the way the child was cradling his wrist, it was surely broken. "Twenty minutes in the bathroom," Vernon said. He turned around, book in hand, and walked out of the room.

Harry lay there a moment, catching his breath, before he struggled to his feet and walked to the bathroom.

He took a short shower, struggling to keep his back away from the spray, his wrist throbbing. He knew he should probably run it under some ice-cold water, but he didn't get to shower often and he felt dirty.

He dried off, with great difficulty, and dressed in another pair of Dudley's clothes. "Never thought I'd be thankful for oversized pants…" Harry muttered to himself, pulling the belt with one hand until it caught. He let the end of it hang out, not caring if he looked sloppy or not. Maybe he could spend the rest of the summer in his room, only coming out to go to the bathroom or do the occasional chore.

He left the bathroom and made his way to Dudley's spare room. He smelled desert, a fresh pie, and his stomach growled.

"Harry," aunt Petunia said, stopping halfway up the stairs. "Come down here and…" She paused. "What happened to your hand?"

"I think I broke my wrist…" he replied flatly, keeping all emotion from his face as best he could.

She pursed her lips, folded her arms, and sighed. "Then go to bed," she turned and walked back down the stairs.

Harry sighed, but obeyed. He closed the door and looked around the room. He had to find something straight to tie to his wrist, or it would set wrong. He learned that the hard way from Dudley.

So Harry set about finding something to tie around his arm and something to hold it straight.

-Chapter End-

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><p><strong>Feel free to rate, review, or message me if you have any positive criticism. <strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: **Thank you all for waiting patiently. Yet again my computer crashed (It's probably the cup of soda I spilt on it though XP)  
>So I'm really sorry for the delay!<br>I'm so happy that anyone who's reading this is pleased with it.  
>This is AU, so some things will change and ultimately the plot of the book will change a little.<p>

**Warning:** This deals with abuse of a child. It's not extremely graphic, though.

**Disclaimer:** All of these characters belong to JK Rowling. The only thing I (kinda) own is the idea for this fiction.

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><p>-Chapter Two-<p>

=Didn't Nottice=

Harry couldn't believe he had blown Marge up.

The initial excitement had worn down after Uncle Vernon had stood up from the ground and stalked back into the house.

Harry realized only too late that he should have run. He should havetaken his things and left, but he didn't. Now he was laying on the floor, his head throbbing from his uncle slamming it against the wall.

A loud series of knocks broke the silence, causing Uncle Vernon to turn quickly. "Get to your room," Vernon snapped. "Quickly!" He yanked Harry up by the collar of his shirt and shoved him towards the stairs.

Harry stumbled up the steps, dizzy, and held onto the rail as if his life depended on it. He glanced down towards the door before he was nearly to his room, and saw Petunia open it.

A few men stood outside the door.

"Mr. and Mrs. Dursley." A man said, extending his hand.

Vernon looked at the man for a moment, then grudgingly shook the man's hand. "What do you want?" He asked curtly.

Petunia gripped Vernon's arm, glancing back momentarily towards Dudley's second room. She caught Harry's eye, then he dissappeared from view.

"I am here to discuss the accidental magic that caused…. Marjorie Dursley, was it?" The man looked towards a younger man, who flipped through some papers. "Yes, sir."  
>"She was blown up, according to my report, by one Harry James Potter. Is that correct?"<p>

Vernon, purple in the face, fumbled with words.

"Yes," Petunia said, interupting her husband. "Our nephew did do that. But why are you here?" She asked.

"We just need to address the situation." The man said. "May we come in?"

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><p>Harry changed his shirt. If they were wizards, which Harry was sure they were, he needed to make sure he looked nice.<p>

He had used magic outside of school… but maybe they would believe that he hadn't really meant to. It was just an accident after all. Maybe he could convince them he hadn't meant it, that he wouldn't do it again.

He couldn't stand living with the Dursley's longer than he had to. He had to go to Hogwarts.

Vernon was walking up the stairs now, (Harry could hear the heavy footsteps pounding on the floor.) Quickly Harry combed his hair down as best he could and tossed a long sleeved button up on.

The door opened. "Harry, get out here." Vernon hissed quietly. "Go wash up quickly. There are…" He paused, looking for the right word. Taking a quick glance backward, unsure if the people downstairs could hear what he said, he continued. "People… that need to speak with you immidiatly."

Harry obeyed, moving past his uncle and hurrying to the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror, sure that the person he saw was not himself. He moved a hand to the tender flesh of his cheek, which was a motley of colours that spread from forehead to chin. He had a black eye starting, and it wasn't going to look pretty later. His uncle had really outdone himself this time, Harry mused as he slowly washed the dried blood from his face. His wrist hurt, yet again; he tried to not use his hand at all, but it was difficult trying to rush.

"Harry!" He heard his uncle bellow from downstairs.

Making the final touches, (he tried to flatten his hair and hide some of the bruise) Harry turned out of the bathroom and walked down the stairs. Before the last step, he took a deep breath, calming his racing heart, and plastered a guilty look onto his face. It wasn't hard, really. Once he'd gotten used to Dudley blaming him for things he never did, Harry had found it much simpler to accept whatever punishment he was dealt, or it would be worse.

"Harry Potter," a man said, stepping from the couch. He hadn't been sitting, just standing beside it awkwardly waiting for the boy to come downstairs.

"Unfortunately, it is not permitted for underage wizards or witches to perform magic outside of Hogwarts. I'm sure you are well aware of that. However, I think that because it was… accidental, as your Aunt has stated, I think we just need to have a discussion." The man continued on.

"Um… sir, I…"

"Oh, dear, forgive me. I forgot to introduce myself. I am Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic." The man said, holding his hand out for Harry to shake.

Harry stepped closer, bowing his head as he shook the man's hand. "Pleased to meet you, sir." He said, then stepped back out of the good lighting. Hopefully no one, especially the Minister of Magic, would notice.

"I believe I've said all I need to to your Aunt and Uncle, but I need to give you a warning, Harry. I understand you are young and your emotions will get out of control sometimes. But you MUST keep yourself in check. If no one had been here to help, to think what would have happened…" Fudge began musing to himself and not talking to Harry anymore. "There is a lot of things going on outside, Harry, and it would be unwise for you to make a mistake that could get you killed."

Harry frowned at the man, confused slightly. Yes, he'd made a mistake, but it wasn't really going to cost him his life, would it? At most they would expel him from Hogwarts and take his wand; why was Fudge talking about life and death?

Perhaps what he had done was a serious offence? But he couldn't have been the only wizard ever to have used magic on muggles…

"Are you listening, boy?" Fudge interrupted Harry's spiraling thoughts.

"I'm sorry, sir. I guess I'm just… thinking about it." Harry said flatly.

"Well, you should be… anyway, I said that I will give you leeway this time, but if anything happens…" He trailed off, letting Harry's mind invent scenarios.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," he said, putting his hat atop his head and turned from the boy. "I have other matters that need addressing." He tipped his head slightly to the Dursleys, then left the room and walked past Harry down the hallway to the front door, followed by two other wizards Harry hadn't noticed in the room until just then.

Harry watched him go. He wasn't sure whether he should feel relieved or upset that Fudge, or any of them really, hadn't noticed a single bruise or cut. Or maybe they had and didn't care? Did they think that Harry deserved what he'd gotten for using magic on his Uncle's sister?

The front door shut semi-loudly, leaving the rest of the house in silence.

Harry stood still, his thoughts still on the minister and the other wizards that accompanied him, until his uncle cleared his throat and stood.

A sick feeling came upon Harry then, and he looked towards the living area where his Aunt and Uncle were.

"I think," Vernon spat, his face a dangerous shade of dark purple, "That it is high time we have a _talk_."

Harry cringed, unsure what his uncle meant.

"Until you go back to that freak school of yours, you are not to leave your room." He grabbed Harry by the back collar of his shirt and pulled him close. "I will not hear a peep out of you, or your ruddy bird, until the day I take you to the train station. Am I clear?"

"Yes sir…" Harry answered softly, every muscle in his body tensed.

"And don't think that because you're going to school you're off the hook. It's the only way we can get rid of you, and we're not paying for any schooling for you."

"Yes sir…"

"Now up to the room. And I promise, if you disobey, you will be sorry."

Harry ran up the stairs with more energy than he thought he'd had. He ran into the room, his breathing uneven, and shivered violently.

His Aunt closed the door behind him, throwing the locks, then walked off.

Harry collapsed onto the bed, silent sobs wracking his already pained body. He'd gotten off lighter than he'd expected, but no matter what, the situation was hopeless. Why had everything come to this?

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><p>Professor Severus Snape was enjoying his summer, to say the least. Not that he was laughing his time away in the sun, or even talking with people often. He'd spent the majority of his time at his home in Spinner's End, brewing potions, learning more difficult ones, and having little else to worry about.<p>

Well, except for spying for Dumbledore of course.

On the occasion that the very broken group of Death Eaters grouped up, either to talk about finding a new leader, or the ones that had stood closer to the Dark Lord talking about finding _him_, Snape was present. He made it a point to attend every meeting, no matter how trivial. But he would present himself as the most loyal to the fallen Dark Lord, and even pretend to aid the man, if he ever came back.

And Dumbledore was adamant that he would, or would at least try.

So for the most part his summer was untarnished; the next school year looked to be a futile attempt to teach nitwit students, and no matter how much he put it off, he still needed to put a class schedule together.

Snape was not a procrastinator, quite the contrary actually. He was prompt, had everything well planned out, and even had back up plans for the occasions that something was messed up.

He was just not looking forward to teaching potions to the students with ever waning talent. Some of them showed promise, and he hated to admit it but the Granger girl could do well, if only she wasn't a stuck up brat.

He sneered at the thought, then shook his head. The students would be leaving for the trains late tomorrow, which gave him barely a day and a half to plan the first rigors of the week.

He stood from the chair and pushed it in, setting the cup down on the table top. Snape climbed the stair and walked down the hall to the room on the end. He owned a rather large house, but that was inheritance from a father long passed.

He'd thought about getting rid of it many times, but it was the safest place he knew.

Snape sighed as he picked up a potions book and began packing for the new school term.

How is it the summer time always ended so quickly?

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><p>Harry boarded the train silently, glad to be free from his Aunt and Uncle, glad to be safe; somewhat. He found Ron and Hermione rather quickly sitting beside a sleeping adult.<p>

"Harry!" Hermione jumped up and hugged Harry tightly.

The flinch he made was not lost on her and he jumped back quickly. "Are you ok?" She asked frowning.

"Fine," Harry lied. He smiled. "Just sore, ya know?"

Ron helped Harry heft his trunk into the storage area above the seats, then sat down beside Hermione. He pulled Scabbers out of his pocket.

Harry paused, scooting as far from the strange sleeping man as possible. "Who do you think he is?" Harry asked, motioning the man with his right hand.

"Professor…" Ron said, interrupting Hermione before she could speak. "it's on his bag." He added.

Hermione shot Ron a glare, before sighing and turned back to Harry. "So why didn't you come to Diagon Alley early? I thought Ron had sent you a letter saying we were all going to be there…"

"Oh, I was busy with chores and everything," Harry lied. "Plus Uncle Vernon had me lock Hedwig up…"

Ron and Hermione watched him a moment. Harry felt uncomfortable, hoping they would look away or change the subject. When no one said anything, Harry cleared his throat.

"So how was Egypt?" He asked.

Ron's eyes lightened, and he went on and on about the sand, how hot it was, and every last thing he could think of. Hermione added comments in between, about the culture and how amazing it would have been to go.

Harry related the story of how he'd blown up his Aunt, as Ron was asking why the minister of magic had taken a trip to Little Winging.

Ron and Harry laughed out loud, only to be quickly shushed by Hermione.

The rain outside grew harder.

"Hey Harry, have you heard about a man called Siruis Black that escaped Azkaban?"

Harry shook his head. "Nothing of the sort. Who is he?"

"Well, he's a mass murder," Hermione began, crossing her arms across her stomach. "Killed a street full of witches and wizards."

"Yeah," Ron nodded his head. "But that's not all. I heard my mum and dad talking about him, and they didn't know that I was listening. My dad said that he escaped, well…" Ron paused, checking to make sure the teacher was still asleep. "You think he's dead?"

"No, Ron." Hermione said impatiently. "Now finish the story."

"Well, dad said that he was you-know-who's biggest supporter. Said he broke out to kill you, Harry."

A wry smile crossed Harry's lips. "Another fan?" he laughed quietly, which brought laughs from Ron.

"This isn't funny, Ron." Hermione said sternly.

The car jerked, and Ron's reply died on his lips as the lights went out and the train came to a screeching halt.

"What's going on?" Ron asked. He was shaking, Harry could tell, because Hermione snapped for him to calm down.

A few moments of silence passed, and Harry stood and made his way to the door.

A sudden chill passed through the room, and Hermione let out a gasp.

Though it was dark, Harry could make out a sillouette of a sleeve and a bony looking hand reaching towards the door handle.

Harry stood frozen, eyes wide as the door opened, and the temperature dropped even more.

Harry stumbled back, his blood going to ice in his veins as what he thought was a person came into the compartment.

Harry felt pain wash over his body and heard a scream.

Hermione was in trouble, and he needed to help, but all he could do was stand still. Or was he laying?

Everything faded to a dull grey; he felt as if he were submerged in a tank of icy water, but his skin (particularly the cuts and broken wrist) was on fire.

Then nothing.

* * *

><p>Harry came to. Everything felt surreal, as if he was floating. Suddenly sound crashed into him like an ocean wave beats against a cliff wall. The lights were back on and the rocking of the train car assured Harry that he was on his way to Hogwarts. But how'd he end up on the floor?<p>

"Harry, are you awake?" Hermione asked softly.

"Sure," he replied curtly and sat up. His wrist was throbbing again. "What happened?" He asked, his thoughts still hazy.

"Something came in here and… well I don't know what it did. It sort of made everything cold." Ron said quietly.

"Then you sort of passed out and the Professor said something, then muttered a spell that repelled it." Hermione finished, brushing her hair from her face. "He left a moment ago, but he should be right back. He said you broke your wrist…"

The door opened, and she fell silent. The trio looked up to their Professor, who closed the door behind himself. "I see you're up," He addressed Harry.

"Uh, yeah." Harry shook his head.

The man looked messy, like he hadn't slept in months. His hair was everywhere and there were dark circles beneath his eyes, though his suit was neat and clean.

"Eat some chocolate," He said and broke pieces from a bar. He handed them out to each of them. The man folded the foil paper back over the rest and stuffed it in his jacket pocket.

"Eat," he told Harry, who was still holding his piece. The boy obeyed, and colour returned to his cheeks. A look of relief washed over him.

"Good, now I need to see your wrist."

The boy hesitated a moment, seeming to consider what he should do, then held his left wrist out.

Lupin gently pulled the child's sleeve back, earning a pained groan from the boy.

"Sorry," He said shortly, but continued.

Harry looked from the man's face to his wrist, hoping that everyone bought he'd done it in the fall.

"This is old," Lupin said aloud.

He never had that type of luck, though. Harry laughed. "I fell the other day. I didn't think it was that bad, but I guess it must have been. Probably only cracked it."

Lupin frowned at the boy. He may not have been trained as Madam Pomfrey had, but he wasn't as novice as Harry was taking him for. It had clearly been broken for a week or so and had been trying to heal, and had just been rebroken.

"Well, I think that I'll just take you to Madam Pomfrey's when we arrive at Hogwarts. It shouldn't be but another ten minutes…" He said quietly. "Keep your sleeve up, though."

Harry obeyed.

The next ten minutes couldn't go by faster.

-=Chapter End=-

* * *

><p>Thank you guys so much for reading :D<p>

I'm sorry if some of the characters seem a bit out of character, but that's the way the story seemed to be taking them.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** I would like to say thank you so much for reading and reviewing :D  
>Also, I would very much like to thank Brodus, who wrote helpful comments. While writing it in word I use the line thing so I can add them after it's added to FF… I guess I got overexcited and forgot to finish XP I shall strive for it not to happen again.<p>

On another note, I know it is taking a little while for me to set the story up, and I'm sorry if it seems kinda boring, but it is quite necessary, I promise. I hope the rest of the story lives up to your expectations though! And about Snape, I'm sorry if I don't have him in the story more so far, but that will be changing soon.

Also, I do not have a beta, so if something's misspelled, I'm very sorry and I will fix it soon XP

**Disclaimer:** All characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I'm just borrowing them to write fanfics :D

**Warning:** There's nothing too graphic in this chapter.

* * *

><p>-Chapter Three-<p>

=Right Under Your Noses=

Harry sat in the hospital wing, kicking his feet back and forth over the ledge of the bed as he waited for Madam Pomfrey to come in. She was currently with McGonnagal, and they were checking over the other students of the train that were affected by the… whatever had attacked them.

Professor Lupin had left Harry after a bit, stating that he would go find her and send her back in. That had been at least twenty minutes ago.

Bored, Harry got off the bed that the Professor had told him to sit on and began walking around the empty room. He wasn't used to it being so quiet, or empty, for that matter. He made his way to the closed windows and looked out along the grounds; the rain wasn't letting up, not that Harry had thought it would. If anything it was getting worse. He didn't envy the first years, crossing the lake in this cold weather.

The door to the room opened loudly, causing the boy to jump and turn around.

Professor Snape stood still a moment. "What are you doing in here, Potter?" He asked, looking down his nose to the boy across the room.

Harry stood taller, trying to look determined and unaffected, no matter how he really felt. "Professor Lupin brought me up here. He told me to wait for Madam…"

"Yes, yes." Snape waved him off midsentence. He didn't feel he needed to hear another word; the boy was just looking for attention and sympathy from more teachers. He continued to the cabinet in the room, opening it and pulling a few bottles from the shelves. "I do hope the attention was worth it, Potter." He finally said to the glowering boy, then left the room.

Harry stood still a moment, unsure of what to say. He finally made his way back to the bed and sighed, maneuvering himself back up onto the white sheets.

A little while later Madam Pomfrey came in, muttering under her breath. "First day back and I've already got four sick students. What was the man thinking, bringing those things onto school grounds." She looked up to Harry, slightly surprised that there was someone already there. Her surprise faded and she shook her head. "I just need to assign you your own bed, Potter."

"Sorry about this," Harry half laughed.

"So what's the matter?" She asked. "Lupin told me the Dementor set itself upon the children; he said you fell to a fit and broke your wrist."

"Yes, ma'am." He replied awkwardly. Fell to a fit? Did everyone know?

"Well, let me see your wrist." She walked forward and motioned him to hold his hand out.

Harry complied, and she made short work of fixing the broken appendage. "Please see to it that you take better care of yourself, or I really will have to assign you your own bed. Now come on, the sorting is starting. Professor Dumbledore had to postpone it for a bit so we could check the students over, but I don't think he'll wait much longer."

Harry jumped off the bed, the wrist that had been bugging him for weeks feeling so much better. He was surprised that the injury was causing him so much pain, not that he felt a great deal better. But a broken bone was nothing to compare to flesh wounds.

Harry found his way to his spot easily, sitting beside Ron.

"Why are you so happy?" Hermione asked, but then Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and began sorting the students. He announced the teacher that had been in their cabin was the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Lupin, and then Hagrid was teaching Care of Magical Creatures.

"Must be why we got those weird books," Ron mused.

Dinner started, and with the events on the train, it seemed every student was famished.

The warm food was welcome as Harry and Ron ate. To Hermione, it seemed that they were competing with table manners, or the lack thereof. Thankfully there was much more food than seemed, and the two continued to pile food onto their plates, and empty it in a matter of minutes.

When Dumbledore announced it was time for bed, the trio ran towards Hagrid and congratulated him on his new job.

The Prefects stood, announcing to the first years to follow them to their houses. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood in the large group of students as the first years oohed and awed at the stairs, the pictures, and anything that caught their fancy.

"Were we ever that, OW!" Ron rubbed his arm where Hermione had smacked him.

"Yes," She replied, no hint of remorse in her voice as the group moved slowly to the dorms.

Two hands clapped either side of Harry's shoulders, causing him to wince slightly, and turn. "Fred, George!" He smiled suddenly.

"Heard that you fainted on the train…" Fred started, a look mixed between worry and amusement plain on his face.

"And that you broke your wrist." George finished.

Harry's face fell, and he groaned. "I take it the whole school knows?" He asked.

"We heard it from the new Professor when he was talking to Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey."

"Poor Ginny wouldn't stop shaking even after he gave her some chocolate."

Ron frowned and looked past his brothers for his sister. "Where is she?"

"She had to stay in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey said she should be ok, but she'd have to take something or other until the shivering stops."

"Sad to hear." Hermione commented, rubbing her arm. "Hope she's ok. I heard quite a few students were affected like that… though…" She spared Harry a quick glance.

"What happened? Did it touch you?" George asked after a short pause.

Harry realized that besides the overjoyed first years, the rest of the Gryffindors around were listening intently. "Haven't a clue." He replied curtly, suddenly irritated. It wasn't their fault they were standing around him, but he still felt disgusted at the invasion of privacy.

Harry's stomach started to churn.

Once safely inside their dorm rooms, Harry sighed and lay on his bed, closing his eyes as soon as his head touched the pillow. He hadn't felt at home in months, hadn't felt safe.

"Going to sleep already?" Neville asked, surprising Ron and Harry.

"When did you come in?" Ron breathed out, a hand on his heart.

"Followed you two up here," He replied. "Did you hear about Ginny?"

"Yeah, Fred and George told us." Ron began piling clean clothes in his arms. "Why would Dementors be so far from Azkaban, though?"

"I heard Madam Pomfrey saying that they were looking for Black."

Ron stopped gathering his things and looked at Harry, who met his eyes. "Black can't get in here," The redhead said," grabbing things more slowly.

Neville shrugged, then took his things out of the room to the baths. Ron quietly followed behind, leaving Harry without a word.

Finally alone, the boy pulled his robes off and winced. He must have opened up one of the cuts on his back, because there was dried blood holding his shirt firmly to his back. He slowly started peeling the offensive article of clothing off, hissing when the shirt pulled at the scabs. He laboriously separated his shirt from himself, taking it slowly so he didn't start bleeding again.

He sighed relief when he finished, touching his back softly where he could without hurting himself. The older welts and cuts were nearly healed. He turned to the darkened window to try to see a reflection. The newer cuts were inflamed and some of them were bleeding now.

Uncle Vernon had left him alone for the most part of the three weeks, only letting him out to do the occasional chore or to eat dinner every night, which was the only meal he'd received. The night before Harry's departure, his uncle had spoken to Harry again, telling him that if he wanted to survive the next summer, he had better keep his mouth shut and tell no one. He'd punctuated his statement with his belt. He left Harry afterwords, pausing at the door to tell him, "And tell your friends not to send weird things in the mail anymore."

The whole of Harry's back and shoulders, even some of his upper arms, bore his uncle's warnings. Though on his arms were only raised welts. It hurt the worst where the slashes crossed the healing ones, the skin there seemed to scab the worst.

Harry heard footsteps against the cold stone floor. He hurriedly threw a darker shirt over his frame, grimacing at the deep red stains on his white school undershirt. He only had two or three.

Ron's bare feet tapped against the stone floor. He threw his dirty laundry on his bed and stuck his pinky finger in his ear. "You gonna wash up?" He asked, watching Harry grabbing things from the bottom of his trunk.

"I think I'll just do it in the morning." The brunette answered. "I'm really tired, and I think I ate too much for dinner."

Ron nodded. "Ok…" He shrugged and turned, throwing things in his trunk and throwing his dirty clothes on the floor by the wall.

"My mUm cooks like that sometimes," He laughed. "The food's too good to refuse so I end up with a stomach ache."

Harry laughed and pulled his bedclothes back, then climbed onto the soft mattress. He lay on his side, (he hadn't slept on his back in weeks, and he'd learned that the hard way) and pulled the covers up to his chin, sighing.

It felt good to be back.

* * *

><p>The first day at Hogwarts was eventful, to say the least. The entire school must have heard of the train ride, and Malfoy and his group made jokes about it. His demise was foretold in the first class of the day, and in Hagrid's class he rode a Hippogriff, only for said beast to attack Malfoy. Harry was unsure how he felt about that; pleased that karma took care of the blonde Slytherin, but upset because the consequences that would be coming from it.<p>

Harry used the baths first thing in the morning, before most of the other boys were up. He'd only had one close encounter the first few days, and that was when Percy walked in. The older Weasley seemed distracted, though, because he didn't even greet him.

Potions fared worse than any class Harry had; Snape seemed to target Harry, Ron and Hermione. The vehemence he showed them was worse than previous years.

The first potions class they had, Harry tried to appear invisible.

Snape began writing things on the board, which Harry fervently copied, then told the students to take their books out. He began class, explaining the third year potions, and how much more difficult they were, on and on.

He told the students to turn to the first chapter and begin the first potion.

"Ron," Harry whispered, kicking the red-head's foot. "I don't have a potions book…"

Ron frowned. "Why?"

"Well…"

A book slammed hard on their table, immediately drawing the pair's attention to the sound.

"I said this was an individual project. Which word did you two not understand?" He lifted the rather large tome from the table.

"Uh… sorry…sir…" Ron mumbled, looking back to his cauldron.

"Potter," he addressed the other boy. "Where is your book? Forgot to bring it today?"

"I uh, lost it at… home." He said, the last word falling sourly from his lips. He hadn't meant to add as much emotion as he did, and once it fell from his lips he looked away from the professor.

Snape stood still a moment. Harry's emotion through the words was so forceful, even an idiot couldn't have missed it. But he never let much take him by surprise, and even fewer things dumbfounded him. "Use his book for today, but do not speak. Detention tonight; and ten points from Gryffindor for unpreparedness." He turned, his robes whipping about behind him, and walked back to the front of the classroom. "You have until the end of class to present your potions."

Harry reported to the Potions classroom an hour before dinner.

"Sit." Professor Snape said. He gathered his books and papers, organizing them on his desk, all the while Harry sat patiently at the table.

A dirty, well worn book was dropped in front of him, dust floating onto the table top. "Seeing as you forgot your book at home…"

"It was lost." Harry corrected.

"Don't interrupt me," he snapped. "You need to learn respect, Potter. I will not tolerate what you get away with so easily around the other… adults."

Harry glared back at Snape, but remained silent.

"As I was saying, since you forgot your book at home, you may use this copy. I will not provide for a student that takes nothing serious."

Harry took the book. 'Not like much else I own is new,' he thought dryly.

"Now, on top of your homework for identifying different ingredient substitutes for these potions, you are to copy the first chapter, word for word."

Harry took the quill placed on the table beside the book as the professor places parchment on the other side.

"The whole chapter, sir?" Harry asked curtly.

Snape glared. "As much as you can in an hour." He said between gritted teeth. "And it must be presentable." He strode towards his desk, his fists curled tightly. Had this boy no manners? How did all the other teachers put up with him?

He sat in his chair, rubbing the sides of his head. The first week was not over and Potter already had his head pounding.

He spent the rest of the hour adding the final touches to the class plans, glancing up occasionally to the boy.

"Go to dinner," He said finally.

Harry stood, gathering the dusty book in his hands, and walked to the large desk. He placed the quill and paper in front of the professor. "There." He said, then turned and left.

Snape glanced the paper over quickly, finding a few spelling errors, before he set it down to go down to the dining hall. The headache was starting to ebb, but he didn't think it would go away very soon, especially in the loudness of the students.

Why did children feel the need to talk so much anyway? If they only spent as much time talking about their classes or studying as compared to the latest love potion or quidditch match, they'd be better off than they were now.

Much as he expected, all the students spent the meal talking with full mouths, nearly as loud as they could.

* * *

><p>If Snape was mean before, after the Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson with the boggart he was viscous.<p>

Harry repeatedly found Neville the one Snape spent his time and attention on. Neville, more nervous in the class, often ended with Snape's classic sneer and his potion being thrown out. Harry's potions weren't all that much better, the book Snape had given him was splotched, with some water stains that caused the ink to bleed and words to become a giant blob of ink on the page.

Harry sat in potions class, trying to decipher the words.

"Potter, you left the potion for too long." Snape said over his shoulder. Harry jumped, then looked at the potions Professor. "I can't..."

"Potter, I'm getting tired of arguments and excuses." He said, not so quietly. "Perhaps if knew as much as you thought you did, then you wouldn't need that book."

Harry glowered and started to stand, only to have Hermione tug his sleeve hard and pull him back into his seat.

"Detention, Potter." Snape met Harry's gaze. "And I suggest you keep your tongue from slipping or else you might not play the first quidditch game."

Harry turned to the book, his knuckles turning white from his grip on his pantlegs.

Detention that evening was spent scrubbing the dirty cauldrons until Snape found them satisfactory. He looked over them each, running his fingers along the inside. "Good enough."

Harry sighed thankfully, his wrist hurt from pressing so hard.

"I expect you to remember this lesson and learn from it. I will not take insolence any longer."

And with that, Harry was dismissed from the room.

Snape did not ban him from quidditch, thankfully, but Harry didn't retort as often.

Wood drilled the group harder than he had in the first two years, which Harry was ungrateful for. Because his back was just healing, he wasn't doing as good as he had previously. Oliver Wood, in his seventh and final year, pushed the team harder each practice.

His attitude began improving over the weeks, much to the relief of Ron and Hermione, who found it odd that he stay as quiet as he had been lately. On numerous occasions they asked him what was wrong, why had he been avoiding them, and why he'd grown 'sullen.'(Which were Hermione's exact words.)

After Ron had announced the upcoming trip to Hogsmeade, Harry's mood soured again. He copied Ron's star chart, and after the quarrel with Crookshanks chasing Scabbers, he followed Ron up to the dormitory.

* * *

><p>Harry lay awake on the floor of the Great Hall, the purple sleeping bag he lay on not so much uncomfortable, but all four houses sleeping in the same area kept sleep just out of reach. He stared at the ceiling long after Snape had talked to Dumbledore, long after Ron and Hermione had fallen asleep.<p>

He tried to sleep, but the openness of everything made him feel…vulnerable. He started every time a teacher opened the door to check on them, and was thoroughly thankful when the sun started coming up.

He followed the rest of the Gryffindors back to their dorms to bathe and dress, though he waited until the very last minute to wash up.

He found it odd that the teachers walked whatever hall he was in. It was driving him up the wall. He found a bathroom and ducked in quickly right in front of a few fourth years, thankful he was still shorter than them.

He locked himself in a stall at the end and stood there for a few moments, his forehead pressed against the door. He thought about staying there for a few minutes, or maybe even the rest of the day. He felt sick, angry. Why did they have to follow him so closely?

Harry sat on the floor, his back against the door and his knees against his chest. His hands lay limply beside him on the cold floor as he stared at the colorless ceiling.

He must have fallen asleep, because he woke up to someone knocking on the stall door and calling his name.

"Potter, get out here now." It was Snape.

Groggy, and so sore from sleeping in that awkward position for… however long he had been there, Harry slowly stood. He used the wall to hold himself up and stretched, then turned and opened the stall door. "Must've fallen asleep…" he said quietly, not meeting the potion's master's eyes.

"Fallen asleep? Well, I guess that's excusable," the tall man said snidely, his eyes narrowed and his lips curling in anger. "Well while you had a nice nap, a good portion of the teachers have been searching for you throughout the school."

Harry couldn't help but snort. Even after he realized he'd done it, he didn't care. "That's nice. And the nap was perfec t." He met Snape's eyes, mustering all the defiance he had. He felt the heat well up in his stomach, the anger knotting his insides as his throat tightened.

"Do you think this is a game? A known criminal has been sited on school grounds, in your dormitory no less, and while the teachers are risking their lives to protect you…" He grabbed Harry's collar and pulled him forward.

"Well they haven't been doing their best!" Harry shouted, swiping his arm and breaking Snape's contact. "I guess that it just doesn't matter unless I'm under your noses," he spat angrily, then walked past a shocked Snape out of the bathroom.

Snape reeled at the child's words, the immense hurt that shown in his eyes, but didn't understand. Was he just throwing a tantrum, that he was being punished for his wrong doings? Or…

Snape straightened, smoothing his robes, and turned to follow the boy out. What he said played over and over in his mind, but a child's tantrum just wasn't adding up. He had been more sullen lately, but wasn't that just because he didn't want to be banned from quidditch?

He found Lupin on his way down the empty hall, who informed him that Harry had just been escorted to the potions classroom. A curt thank you and a short walk later found Snape in his classroom, teaching as he normally did, except the snide comments, though.

When class was finally over, he stopped the sullen child, and that's what he looked like now, to stay a moment after class.

"I do not appreciate your attitude, Potter. I will not be spoken to like that." His voice lacked the extreme harsh edge it usually had, but was in no sense nice. "As a result, you have detentions with me for the rest of the week, starting after your last class and until supper. Understood."

Harry simply looked up, his eyes that were just hours ago so aflame with anger, hatred even, now dull.

"Yeah," Harry replied, then walked off.

-= Chapter End=-

* * *

><p>Woo! A really long one for ya And all in a day! (And literally, I sat here writing the entire day in short spurts :D) Thanks to video games to help cut my time up so I didn't go crazy! Well anyway, thank you for reading, and I will post soon!<p>

Oh, by the way feel free to comment ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**AN**: So, my dear readers, I'm actually starting this directly after chapter three. The muse that seems to vacation for weeks on end and only visits once a month has decided to sit next to me for a few days, so I've decided to work her to the bone :D (And my fingers while I'm at it lol) I hope you all love me as much as I love you!

I hope you are all pleased with what I've written so far, and if you think it could have been written differently, PM me with a prompt! (I'm in between jobs right now and might as well write as much as I can!)

Also, I would like to say that Brodus has been an immense help and I appreciate every comment you've made :D

This is in fact only my third fanfiction ever, and it's nice that you are being so nice about your comments, yet still getting the point across.

**Disclaimer: **All characters belong to J.K. Rowling and co. I have no money, thus I'm making none from this fanfic :D

**Warning**: Nothing too descriptive, but mentions of child abuse.

* * *

><p>-Chapter Four-<p>

=Spark of Hope=

Harry sat in the first detention, right after class, like he'd promised.

Snape sat at his desk for awhile, leaving Harry to sit in silence and wait.

Dumbledore had approved of Snape occupying Harry's time. Though it seemed harsh, it was the best way to keep a close eye on the boy. Snape had left out the two puzzling sentences that Harry had said; he wasn't sure what was happening, but he wanted to have all the information before reporting something like that to Dumbledore. Perhaps some part of him hoped that the conclusion he continued to come to over and over again was wrong, or maybe even put the inevitable off for awhile, of which Snape wasn't sure. McGonagall offered immediately to oversee Snape's routine throughout the corridors and watch the hallways for him, so thankfully it all worked out in the end.

"Care to explain what you were doing sleeping in the boys restroom, Potter?" He finally said.

Harry shrugged, his eyes not leaving his stack of books.

"You don't know?" He said sharply.

"No," Harry replied after a few moments. He scratched at the cover of his charms book, digging into the hard cover.

For awhile Snape glared at the boy, watching him play with his books. He sighed, rubbing his temples as his eyes dropped. A good length of Harry's socks peered out from underneath his pantlegs, which were at least a hand's width above his ankles. Snape frowned for a moment. "Come here," He ordered, standing.

Harry obeyed without a word, pushing the chair back and walking up to the potion's teacher to stand in front of his desk, all the while his eyes remained on the floor. As Snape walked from behind the desk, he found a very interesting spot on the stone floor and stared at it.

"When was the last time you went to get your dress robes fitted."

Harry frowned. Second year, was it, when the Weasley's had taken him to Diagon Alley? "Just this last summer. My family took me a bit early, and I've been growing fast."

Snape could tell a lie when he saw one, and though he was often prejudiced against the boy and blaming them when he had no proof, a plain lie was just that. Plain.

"I see." He said, turning to sit back down. "Go back to your seat." He ordered.

Again, the boy wordlessly obeyed and sat in front of his books.

"You will spend these hours doing your homework until it is all finished. After that I will assign you other things to do. Am I understood?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Harry opened his books and began to work.

Snape studied the youth for a moment, then set about his own business, though his mind remained occupied with the child before him. It would do no good to brow beat the boy into answering him about the earlier encounter, so he would have to devise another way.

The hours passed slowly, and finally Harry was released from the potions classroom. "I expect you not to forget to come here tomorrow. Should it slip your mind, I will add another week for each day. Now go to dinner."

Harry stood and gathered his things, walking from the room, and made his way to the Great Hall. He felt tired, for the most part, but aside from that there was little else. He didn't feel thirsty, and though he'd eaten little at lunch, he wasn't hungry. He found Ron and Hermione, and sat beside them. He plastered a fake smile on his face and joked about the detention.

He ate little at dinner. As much as he wanted to go to bed early, the students were informed that unless there was a teacher to supervise the halls, they had to remain in the Hall until the meal was over. Harry followed the rest of the Gryffindors to their wing. There was a headcount inside the dormitory, much to everyone's disdain, and they were informed that there would be staff checking on them throughout the night. The picture's that guarded the entrance were under no circumstances allowed to let a single student out until the morning, when a teacher would show up to escort the entire group out. They could move freely during the daytime, as long as it was within sight of a staff member.

The students skulked to their rooms, complaining to each other about it.

Harry found his bed hardly inviting, even though he was so tired. He changed quietly, his back to the wall where no one could see, and his bed stood in the way of anyone else seeing him.

He lay down, pulling the covers over his chin up to his nose, and faced the empty window. His back to the other boys in the room, Harry stared out at the starlit sky. He felt… numb, almost. How was it that every adult ignored him? He stood before Fudge, his face a mess of bruises, and the three wizards walked past him without a word. They hadn't so much as looked at his face. Lupin had noticed that his wrist was broken before the train, but simply shipped him off to Madam Pomfrey, who did little more than mend the bone and send him on his way. She didn't even ask how he'd done it, just simply stated that he was 'a magnate for disaster.' And today, he had said it almost as plainly as he could, and Snape just put him in detention.

How had his best friends not noticed the disgusting scars on his back and arms? When he bathed, why was it that not a single person saw his pain written on his skin, marking him for the rest of his life? Why was he invisible?

Harry broke then, tears spilling down his cheeks as he cried quietly. He had resigned himself to his fate. The boy his only family despised. The accident prone, attention seeking victim.

The scared child that no one really saw.

* * *

><p>Harry ghosted through the next few days, there but not. He seemed to go on autopilot, going through the motions of any other teenage boy in school, laughing at jokes, learning the newest lesson, and sitting in detention silently doing his schoolwork. But <em>he <em>wasn't there.

McGonagall grew worried, the boisterous child who couldn't spend but a minute in silence before whispering to his friends again, only responded when others spoke to him. His eyes grew dull and lifeless.

Hagrid watched as the child who got into so much trouble, who disobeyed rules and spited himself over and over, walk around as though he was a puppet and someone else was controlling the strings.

Lupin noticed the bright and curious mind grow silent, and Snape witnessed the defiant nature die.

Snape could take it no longer. Each day he sat, waiting the child out and hoping that the faze would soon pass. Hoping that the boy would grow irritated from lack of attention, or even that he would retort sharply to some comment that Snape threw his way. More and more Snape grew sure of his assumption. And he had had enough.

"Potter," He snapped harshly, standing suddenly from his desk and walking to the table. The boy looked up slowly. "Yes, sir?"

"What is the matter with you?"

"Um… Nothing, sir." A spark of hope ignited in his stomach; but Harry dashed it out quickly. Snape was just upset he couldn't get to him. He didn't care about him.

"Nothing doesn't make a child stop eating and stop caring."

"I haven't stopped caring." Harry lied.

Snape slammed his fists on the table, glaring harshly. "STOP LYING TO ME!" He walked around the table and yanked the boy up by his tie. "What happened to you?"

Harry blinked, unsure. "Happened?" He asked softly. "I haven't been sleeping well…"

Snape grabbed Harry by his wrist and led him to his desk. "Stand there." He said quietly and began shuffling through the drawers of his desk.

He knew a boy like that once, who lost interest so much so that he didn't eat. He would sleep for days, and dark circles grew underneath his eyes. No one would ask him what was wrong with him, or wonder why he was the way he was. And for a moment that child had had someone to help, someone to trust, only to have it ripped away. Thrice he had become so ill at heart that he didn't want to continue, that he didn't care.

And now he stood before another boy, hopeless and scared. Maybe that was why he cared so much, why he hadn't just shrugged the child's behavior off. He knew the signs, and had seen it in a few students throughout the school in the years he had taught. The first time he'd seen it, he felt it wasn't his problem. The child died in the baths, their wrists split wide open. The second time he'd nearly been too late, and barely caught the poor soul about to jump from the bridge.

And he'd be damned if he would be too late again.

He found the vial he was looking for, a small glass that he kept in his desk. "Drink this," He ordered.

Harry eyed it warily. "What is it?"

"It's a simply draft for a sleeping potion." He said cooly. "It will take a few minutes to work, but you should be able to rest for the rest of detention."

Harry took the vial and pulled the stopper out; he sniffed it and grimaced slightly, but downed the glass vial.

Snape took it back and placed it on his desk, then pointed to the chair. "Go sit down." He ordered.

Harry obliged and sat down. His eyes grew drowsy, and finally he fell into a soft sleep.

Snape sighed, leaning against his desk. Whatever composure he'd managed to maintain fell then, and he struggled with himself. Dumbledore should be told, and perhaps McGonagall.

He waited patiently until dinner began, then hefted the child up. For thirteen the boy was lighter than he should be, but that didn't surprise him, and the fact that he had seen it coming only made the churning in his gut worse.

He carried Harry out of the classroom, and managed to bump into Lupin again.

"What's… is he ok?" Lupin asked, fear spread across his face.

"No." Snape replied. There was no point in lying. "I need you to tell Professor McGonagall and the headmaster that Potter has taken ill. It is very important that they come to my chambers to discuss this further."

Lupin hesitated, then nodded. "I just, have to finish the hall check."

Snape waved him off. Funny how an ill child eased animosity, if only for the moment.

The dark haired man sat the boy on the armchair in his quarters and grabbed a spare blanket. He covered him up, then stepped back and sighed.

The savior, the chosen one, the very hurt little boy sat in front of him. Harry sat in front of him.

Snape sank into a chair opposite the small room and rest his head on his hand, his elbow propped on the table. The cold man who berated students was long gone.

It was another hour or so before the headmaster and deputy headmistress knocked on his door. A very disheveled Snape answered, motioning for them to come in.

"What is wrong with him?" Dumbledore asked, his voice quiet.

"I… I can't be sure." Snape sighed, glancing to the sleeping form. "I mean, I have my suspicions, but…" he looked back to the pair. "I just hope that we're not too late."

Minerva moved to the child, her hand pressing softly to his forehead. "Should we call Poppy?"

"No, no." Dumbledore replied, rubbing his hands together as if they were suddenly cold in this warm room.

"We need to ask him… what happened I mean." Snape said after a long silence.

"Do you think that he would talk to any of us?" McGonagall replied. "He should have said something before…"

Snape laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "You know as well as I, Minerva, that blurting these things out is impossible. To come up to a teacher and say it... he'd never do it."

"Do you think he'll be ok, that he'll get through this?" McGonagall said, almost whispering.

No one answered, and they stood still for awhile.

"Would you be able to take care of him for awhile, Severus?" Dumbledore finally said. "Just until Monday."

"I didn't have anything planned this weekend," Snape replied. "I do think I could look after him…"

The old man looked at his most trusted spy, at the man that claimed little emotion, and smiled. He may have been petty, letting little things get to him, but in a serious matter, when it was important, all those ugly emotions and habits that Severus possessed were pushed aside. If there were any doubts about the man before, they were washed away now.

"I'll leave it to you, then. Perhaps you could see eye to eye with him, let him know that he's not alone."

Snape didn't answer, only stared at the armchair.

"I think we should leave then, and let you set things up. Call if you need us." Dumbledore said, and led McGonagall out, no one saying another word.

* * *

><p>Harry woke the next morning, his mind hazy and warm. He yawned and sat up, his neck cracked. He was sore from the awkward way he had slept. He looked around, confused. Hadn't he just been asleep in the classroom?<p>

"Potter."

Harry slowly turned, blinking his eyes a few times to wash away the sleep.

Snape stood in the doorway, arms crossed, and studied the boy before him. They stared at each other for a few minutes in silence before Snape pushed from the wall and walked forward. He moved a tray from the small work table and handed it to Harry. "You need to eat. You skipped dinner last night."

Harry took it, staring at the silver platter that held a plate of eggs, a few sausages, some toast and a pat of butter. The cup looked to be filled with either orange juice or pumpkin juice. Yet none of this wet Harry's appetite.

"I don't care if you're not hungry, just eat." Snape took a seat at the table, a rather large book opened before him.

Harry obeyed and ate as best he could, a few bites of each thing and half the cup of orange juice. He finally set it down on the floor.

"My uncle burned my potions book." He said.

Snape, though startled, held his face impassive. "Why?"

"They hate magic. My family hates it." He replied slowly. Why was he even bothering to speak now? Hadn't everyone proved they didn't care? But still, a niggling of hope was present. What more could he lose now?

"I see." Snape replied. "Is that why you've been… off lately?"

Harry frowned, pondering the question. He decided on something, for he took a deep breath and started speaking again. "How loud does someone need to yell before people realize it's not alright?"

Snape saw the hurt now, and knew he was making progress. He didn't want to break the boy, but he needed Harry to open up. "Sometimes we mask our faces so people think we're only yelling for fun."

"But I'm not!" Harry exclaimed, his breath hitching. He looked on the verge of tears. "It wasn't… it was never for fun…"

Snape watched Harry's erratic breathing, but ventured, "And what were you trying to get us to notice?"

A few shaky breaths, then Harry said, "The minister of magic ignored me."

"How so?"

"My uncle had gotten mad and… well… he had to vent his anger somehow…"

Snape's insides curled in on themselves. "And how did he vent?"

"My face was covered in bruises and no one saw. How is that possible? I had a black eye, and he still looked right past me. Would they have noticed if I had pointed it out? Or would they have ignored that too?" Tears fell freely down the boy's cheeks. The numbness was wearing off, and all that was left was raw hurt. He felt torn inside, like someone had fed him glass or something, but he continued. "What does it take for them to see? Or… do they think… that I'm not worth it?"

He finally voiced his worst fear; he felt naked now, exposed for anyone to see. If Snape would have made a snide remark then, Harry would have lost all hope. But much to his surprise, and even Snape's, the potion's master stood from his chair and stepped forward. He hesitantly placed a hand on the sobbing boy's head.

"Sometimes adults can't see what they don't want to." Snape replied. "Sometimes we think ourselves the only ones capable of that type of hurt, and we forget that we once felt like that too. Maybe not to the same extent, but pain is still pain."

Harry pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He cried harder than he ever had. He cried for the child locked in the cupboard. He cried for the boy who was told that he was nothing compared to his cousin. He cried for the silent boy that accepted the lashes from the belt, and he cried for the boy who thought no one cared.

He stopped at last, tired from the intense feelings that were running through him now, from the sorrow that had fled.

"How do you feel now?" Snape asked, pushing the tray aside with his foot and kneeling in front of Harry.

Harry looked up, his eyes red and puffy from so much crying.

"I… didn't know you cared…"

-=Chapter End=-

* * *

><p>Mwahahahah! OMG I can't believe that I just wrote two chapters in less than twelve hours! But omg am I exhausted now. (I've been up for 17 hours, and have been writing for 12)<p>

Thank you for reading :D


	5. Chapter 5

**AN**: So I'm really sorry for the wait for this chapter XP It wanted to be written perfectly, and when I FINALLY got that done, then my new computer crashes. I seem to be a cause for technical malfunction lol.

Thankfully I wrote this chapter and most of the next on paper already, therefore the loss was manageable.

As always I'm so happy that you all are reading this fanfiction, and would like to thank every person who does.

**Disclaimer**: I own the paper this story was written on, but not the pen. The computer isn't even mine, so I **DO NOT** own Harry Potter, or anything that pertains to it. Thank you.

**Warning**: Unfortunately the story seemed to take a mind of its own, therefore it will get darker before it gets better. I will maintain putting appropriate warnings with each chapter, so no one should be surprised XP

For this chapter, mentions of abuse, and mention of rape/non-con (non-graphic)

* * *

><p>-Chapter Five-<p>

-=Doubts and Discovery=-

Harry talked little that weekend. Once the initial talk with Snape was over, Harry had little else to say. He simply sat at the little table, quill scratching against the parchment.

At one point Snape ventured to ask what he was writing, but all he got in reply was "I don't know".

The boy was becoming frustrating. He vaguely understood Dumbledore's reasoning with needing Harry to stay in his quarters, but with his ever thin patience about to snap like a dry twig, it was all he could do to not wring the boy's neck.

He knew, however, how counterproductive that would be. Potter had yet to admit out loud what a few of the staff were sure of. Oh, he admitted that he'd fallen, and that once or twice he'd been cuffed by his uncle. He admitted to a nasty bruise across his face, but when the subject of how it got there was breached, the child would firmly shut his mouth or change the subject. That is, when he was talking.

Snape began to worry that besides being angry at the adults, he was depressed. Not that he'd really cared about the boy's_ feelings,_ but what effected the boy's welfare was certainly something to monitor.

What really threw him off, however, was Harry's sudden interest in going back to his quarters in the Gryffindor towers and seeing his friends. For nearly a day and a half the child remained listless, almost haunted, and suddenly he wanted to go back to his friends. Snape chalked it up to comfort, because Potter mustn't really have been interested so much as now he felt like a fish out of water.

"So?" Harry asked, breaking Snape from his musings. "When can I go see them?" 'Or am I still in trouble?' Harry thought harshly. How could one stupid skipped class and being tired in detention have turned into _this_?

"I believe the headmaster has divulged that you had to return home for the weekend as there was a death in your family." The dark haired man replied, making his way through the room to the tiny kitchen.

It wasn't as though Snape needed to cook, they had house elfs aplenty; but he preferred tea made by his own hand after a long, grueling day.

The confused Gryffindor put the stopper back into his ink bottle and wiped the quill on his shirt.

"I understand those clothes aren't in the best of shape, Potter, but I will ask you to refrain from making them worse. You can use something else to wipe your quill on…. No! Not your pants either." He snapped, frustrated.

Professor McGonagall had been kind enough to bring a few sets of the boy's clothes; even a pair of night clothes. Severus had taken offense to the fact that she had picked the rattiest of what he had to own, and even brought him a shirt with a Quidditch team's playing across the front. He'd come to the conclusion long ago that the male children of the Potter line had no taste in casual wear. Even the Weasley boy had eyed the shirt with something akin to disgust the first time Potter had warn it, but the look was short and actually well hidden.

"Who died?" Harry asked when he entered the kitchen, a slight hint of concern in his voice.

"It's a counter measure." The potions master replied, nearly slamming the kettle onto the stove. How could the child show sympathy to that family after… he continued. "No one has died, but with your little stunt and what we've found out, it would be best to keep you out of the paper, and any other prying eye."

"What have you found out?" Harry pressed, eyebrows narrowed and clipped his sentence sharply.

"I'll thank you to keep yourself in check while you're in my quarters, Potter. I won't be spoken to like that." Did this child play dumb or was he competing with Longbottom? "And to answer your question, we have found out that you have come by your injuries by curious means. The staff agrees that we need to find out the extent of your… injuries."

Harry scoffed, "I'm a quidditch player who falls down. And I have a rough cousin who doesn't understand just how much bigger he is than me." 'Or his mum.' Inwardly he was reeling. They couldn't know _everything_. "So if that's all you people are worried about, then you should just let it go. I doubt that you people show Seamus this much attention when Crabbe or Goyle..."

"Potter." Snape slammed his open hand onto the countertop.

The boy flinched. It wasn't extremely visible, and most would have missed it. Most people, though, weren't trained to notice small details as Severus was. "So you're telling me you wanted all the adults to take notice of a few bruises because your guardian's won't reprimand their son when he gets heavy handed?"

Harry squared his shoulders. "Yeah, so what?"

Harry's mind was screaming at him that he was going about this all wrong. Hadn't he wanted to be taken out of the Dursley home? Hadn't he wanted someone to notice that this last summer, something had changed with his Uncle? That the walrus of a man had caused him to bleed? But at the same time, he couldn't really divulge all the information they wanted. It just wasn't possible.

"So all those things you said about your uncle getting very mad and things getting out of hand weren't true? That you are actually fine in that house, and that you _lied_?"

"Yes." Harry replied flatly, crossing his arms over his chest and raising an eyebrow like Snape had. Best take the safe route.

"Go to your dorm, Potter." Snape said icily, his voice wavering as though he were trying his hardest to keep from yelling. "I do not enjoy being lied to, and will not have you acting like a child. Gather your things, we're leaving."

Harry turned without protest, a lump in his throat. How stupid were adults to believe him when he _said_ that he had been lying? And why did they TRUST him?

He gathered what few things he had, his clothes, a quill and some paper, and stuffed it into his homework bag as best he could.

"We will floo into the headmaster's office. From there you can be on your way. And I want the truth by the time you come to class tomorrow, written out. Understood? I do not care how long, but I want the full truth by the time class begins."

* * *

><p>"Harry!" Hermione called. She ran to Harry, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tight. "Where have you been?"<p>

"Ms. Granger," The headmaster smiled, waving. "I trust that he will tell you as soon as he can breath. May I have a moment?" He motioned for her to follow him.

She let Harry go. "Ron's upstairs." She said shortly. "I'm sure he'd be more than happy to see you, I'll be right back."

Harry nodded, but watched the two walk down the hall a ways, then stop and begin talking. He hesitated, but walked up the stairs to put his things away.

"Mate!" Harry said, sitting up in his bed. "Where've you been? Hermione's been driving me bonkers and we asked McGonagall what was going on but no one…"

"Calm down," Harry laughed, setting his bag down and began sorting through his bag and putting things away. "Come downstairs with me, and I'll tell you both."

"Ok." Ron said.

"What's wrong with you and Hermione?" Harry asked, pulling his second shirt off and grabbing his robes.

Ron frowned. "It's nothing. Why are you wearing so many shirts?" Ron asked as Harry pulled his sweater on.

"Cold… it was uh, cold when I went home."

"Home?"

"Come on, I'll explain downstairs."

As the pair climbed down the stairs, Hermione had just climbed back through the portrait.

"What'd the headmaster want?" Harry asked quickly, then paused. He shouldn't look so interested.

"Oh, just to talk about my classes," Hermione waved her hand back and forth in front of her face. "But that's not important. Why were you gone all weekend?"

Harry scratched his arm, thinking hard. He'd come up with an intricate lie, and was sure they'd believe him, but he couldn't really lie to his friends anymore. He felt bad enough about how much he'd lied already.

"You have to promise you can't tell." Harry said, looking around the room. There was a small corner not occupied, and what few students that were still in the tower were all sitting comfortably by the fire.

"We won't, Harry." Ron agreed immediately.

Hermione frowned and followed them to the corner. "About what, Harry?"

"You can't tell, Hermione…" Harry pleaded.

"Come on, we only have a few minutes before we have to go to the dining hall, Herms." Ron sighed, nudging her with his elbow.

She sighed, but nodded. "Fine. Now what's wrong?"

Harry glanced around the room again, then began. "Over the summer my uncle got really angry and… well he was meaner this summer, so he pushed me really hard and knocked me down. I broke my wrist. He accidentally hit me too, but I think that was just because he was really frustrated. Anyway, the teachers have been following me around and Snape has been asking me all kinds of questions."

"That git?" Ron interrupted.

"Quiet, Ronald. Let him finish."

"Yeah, but I'm fine and I don't want them worrying. I just made him really mad blowing his sister up…"

"But that was an accident."

"Ron…" Hermione glared, and the red head rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, but you know how Percy gets when he's really mad and says things he doesn't mean."

"Harry, that's different." Hermione interjected, frowning. "You can say something, but hurting a child isn't ok. That's abuse."

Harry paled, but the other two took no notice, because Ron had glared at Hermione and she rolled her eyes at him.

"It's not… Hermione everything's ok, ok? I'm fine."

"Come on." Ron said. "Dinner time…"

Thankful that Ron had enough sense to move on to something else, he started following Ron. "Hermione, you promise not to say anything, right?"

With a heavy sigh, she nodded. "But if it gets bad… then you HAVE to tell. And I swear if I find out…"

"Everything will be fine, Hermione. Like I said, it was just an accident."

She followed him to the great hall.

* * *

><p>He was supposed to write the truth to Snape, but every time he started writing it, it sounded pathetic. So what if he'd been knocked around a bit, weren't all children? He found himself alluding to things he really didn't want to think about. He crumbled the paper into a tight ball, willing the memories to go with it.<p>

When a few other boys came into the room, he stuffed it into his pocket, and wrote what he thought the teachers should hear; if he couldn't tell a half truth, he might as well tell a full lie. They needed to get off his back, and they really didn't need to know everything.

So when Harry went to take a bath, (it was his safest bet since it looked like no one else was going to tonight) he didn't notice the paper fall out of his pocket.

When he left the room, Ron picked it up and read it. His face paled considerably, but he didn't say anything. Putting it into his bag, he waited for Harry to come back. When he couldn't find anything to say, he lay down and went to a fitful sleep.

To say that the weekend with Snape had curbed some of the animosity between the two was an overstatement. The next day in potions hadn't fared very well.

Harry put the paper on the desk and sat down. Class began with instructions on the board, brewing the potion, turning it in, then writing down the homework.

"Potter, stay." Snape said shortly.

"We'll wait for you outside," Hermione said, then pulled Ron from the room.

"Yes?" Harry said. When Snape shot him a glare, he added a very snarky "Sir?"

"I thought I told you to give me the truth. What is this?" He pushed the parchment back at Harry.

"The truth?" Harry made a face.

Snape rubbed the side of his head. "I said I will not have you lie to me. Why, pray tell, have you written this rabble? I told you I didn't care for the length, but I see that that kindness was wasted. So tomorrow I expect to have another parchment fully explaining the truth. If you lie again, and write… this," he gestured to the parchment like it was animal droppings, "I will require a length, and you will have detention again. Understood?"

Grabbing the parchment off the tabletop, Harry glared. "Yes, sir." He shot back, then stalked out.

"Come on," He told his friends, a very sour expression on his face.

Ron paused. "I forgot something in the room, hold on. I'll just meet you in the next class, ok?" The red head disappeared back into the room.

Hermione rolled her eyes, saying something like 'Would forget the colour of his hair if it weren't for a mirror,' and led Harry to their next class.

"What is it that you need, Weasley?" Snape asked while he erased the board.

"Um… sir… I found…" Ron frowned, gripping the folded parchment in his pocket and looking back.

"You found what?" The potions teacher snapped, turning around to face the boy.

"Well, I sorta overheard you telling Harry that he needed to write a parchment about something, and I think that's what he was doing last night."

Snape said nothing, but raised an eye brow and huffed.

"Well, it dropped out of his pocket when he went to take a shower last night, and I read it. I thought it was a love note or something…" He added hurridly. In truth he wanted to see if he could use Harry's homework for help… "But, what I found was, well…" He frowned and pulled the paper out of his pocket. "I don't think Harry would joke about something like this." He reached out to give it to the Professor.

Snape unfolded it, his interest piqued. His eyes scanned the scribble, unmistakably the student in question's handwriting. He paused, his face devoid, and set it on the table. "Have you told anyone you found this?"

"No, sir. I tried to ask Harry about it last night, but if it was true I didn't want to break my promise…"

"Promise?"

Ron froze, heart speeding up. Harry hadn't known about the paper, so he couldn't feel too guiltly about handing it over, but he'd _promised_ not to tell about the talk.

"Shall I get the headmaster?" Snape asked sharply, irritated. Didn't the child realize the severity of the situation?

"I… Harry told us something about this summer." He couldn't let Harry get hurt. Yelling was one thing, but this? "He said his uncle broke his wrist and hit him a little, and that you were all worried about something and that's why he was gone all weekend."

Snape let the information sink in, then straightened, (if at all possible) even more. "Please go to your next class, Mr. Weasley. And do not mention this to Potter if at all possible, or you will find that he may get very upset."

Ron nodded, but already knew all of this. He paused. "Do… do you think it's true?"

"What," Snape asked sharply.

Ron looked down. "What he wrote. Do you think it… that it happened?"

"I hope not," Snape whispered, sounding pained.

Ron took his leave then, trudging out of the room.

Thanking whatever founder he had to, Snape was glad that that was the last potions class he had until after lunch. Snatching the paper from the desk, Snape hurried to the headmaster's office.

If any students thought it odd that the Professor was practically running through the halls, or if they stared, Snape took no notice.

Mumbling the password, and very irritated at the headmaster chose them from a list of candy, he walked into Albus' office.

"Ah, Severus." Albus said, his voice musical and light. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Snape slapped the crinkled, folded parchment onto the desk in front of him. "He will not go back." Severus said. "Potter will _not_ go back to that place this summer, or any summer. Ever."

Albus frowned and started opening the folded paper. Snape didn't demand things, even when very irritated. He didn't yell, or forget his niceties. Not unless he was extremely frustrated.

The bespectacled man's eyes moved down the parchment, the hand against the desk becoming clenched the further he read. He set the it down, pushing his glasses up and pressing his fingers into the corners of his eyes. What he really wanted to do was burn most of Private Drive down.

"How did you come by this?" He finally asked Snape.

"Ronald Weasley brought it to me after class. He said Harry had told Ms. Granger and himself earlier that evening that his uncle was the cause of a few injuries over the summer, and he wished us, the staff that is, not to know."

"Why didn't he tell us?" Dumbledore asked, more rhetorical than anything.

"Why didn't he… do you understand what you are saying!" Snape bellowed. "How do you tell a child to explain something like that. How could he even begin to understand what happened to him?" His breath came shortly.

"He could have let somebody know…"

"He thinks he DESERVES IT!" The potions teacher slammed his hands on the desk and glared.

Albus slumped. "Go get Minerva…" He said.

Snape straightened, then turned and stalked out of the room.

* * *

><p>"Potter," Professor McGonagall said right after class ended. "May I speak with you?"<p>

Harry sighed, irritated. What was with teachers today? He nodded. "Meet you guys later," Harry said, setting his bag back down on his desk.

"I need you to come with me. No, leave your things here. We can get them later, and we don't have time to take you your dorm to put them away."

Harry frowned. "Are we going somewhere?"

"The headmaster asked me to bring you in." She said shortly. She applauded herself for keeping her face straight when all she wanted to do was yell at the boy. Keeping something so important to himself…

They walked in silence, but instead of going to the headmaster's office, they turned down a different hall.

Harry frowned, shoving his hands in his pockets. Where was she taking him? After a few more halls, the destination became pretty clear, and Harry's heart raced. Why did the Headmaster want to see him… in the hospital wing?

They entered the room, and Harry immediately saw Dumbledore, Pomfrey, and Snape towards the end of the room, speaking quietly by a window. Harry turned and made for the door, but McGonagall was quicker. With a flick of her wand, the door was shut and locked.

"Harry," Dumbledore said.

Harry's fists clenched and he whirled around. "Which one told you." He hissed.

Pomfrey and McGonagall looked taken aback, but Harry didn't care.

"So you're not denying it?" Snape cut in.

"Denying what." Harry sneered, a very close impression of Snape. If the situation weren't so serious, Dumbledore would have laughed.

"Calm down, Harry," the headmaster lifted his hand slightly.

"No. Which. One. Told. You."

"Neither," The old man sighed, holding a misused piece of parchment up.

Harry eyed it for a moment, confused. "What's that got to…" He froze. That was the paper he had written... but hadn't he thrown that away?

"I… it was a joke…" Harry said, his voice losing the determination and anger. His face paled, and he looked sick. "I wanted to make… make Snape angry and wri-write more lies." His breathing came short and forced. Why wouldn't his voice hold? Why was he shaking?

No, no, no, no, this was all wrong. Why couldn't adults leave well enough alone?

Harry was yanked back from the doors by a strong pair of arms; he didn't realize he'd been pounding and yanking at it until then.

"Stop it… let me go," Harry struggled.

"Who did it, Potter." It was Snape that was holding him. Not roughly, and he wasn't hurting him, but he wouldn't let him go. Why wouldn't he let him go?

"No one… it was a joke…"

"Potter," Snape said firmly.

When Harry struggled more, Snape sighed. He wanted to make this as painless as possible, to try to distance Harry from it, but it wasn't working.

"Harry, who raped you?" Snape was glad he was holding Harry, because the boy's legs gave way then. Snape noted that the boy was light, because when he pulled him up and set him on the bed, he hardly exerted himself.

Albus was glad that the room was empty except for the four teachers, now. Harry was shaking, was sobbing into Snape's robes, and wouldn't let go.

"Harry," Minerva said softly, stepping forward. "Was it… was it your uncle?"

Harry looked up immediately. "No! God no!" he shook his head, then realizing the situation, let the potion's Professor go.

Tears still ran down his cheeks, and he was still shaking, but he seemed more in control of himself now, even if it was only a little bit.

"Harry," Madam Pomfrey stepped forward, holding a vial of something. "I need you to drink this."

"It's not true," Harry said stubbornly, pulling his feet onto the bed. "It was a j-joke."

"Please just drink this, then we can talk, ok?"

Harry eyed the potion. What more had he to lose? He downed it quickly, then gave it to the healer. Immediately everything felt… light and fluffy. The heavy feeling that pressed down on him, the anger, the guilt, the pain all seemed far away now.

"How do you feel?" Pomfrey asked.

"Calm…" Harry said.

"That was a calming draught, Harry, so you should feel that way for awhile, all right?"

The boy nodded.

"We need to talk about the note, Harry." Albus finally said, stepping forward.

Harry looked him in the eye. The worry had made it so hard to talk about it, but now… it all seemed so stupid to worry about it. He was safe at Hogwarts. "Ok."

"Harry, did you lie about the things you wrote in the note?"

"No."

"And about how someone… hurt you in a different way than hitting you?"

"No…"

"No what? Was it a lie or the truth?"

Harry frowned and tried to remember all the reasons he shouldn't be talking about this, but they didn't exist anymore. "It was the truth."

McGonagall and Pomfrey stiffened, and the healer couldn't think of what to say. The realization was, beyond disturbing.

"Who was it, Harry?" Snape said, and Harry looked over to the potions master. He looked perplexed, even upset. And although Harry had cried on him, he was still sitting beside him. He was even rubbing his back. It felt nice.

"Who was it?"

Harry blinked. "My cousin's… his friend's older brother…"

Again he searched for a reason to quit talking, but there was nothing. "I was walking past Dudley and his friend's at the park, and they started to kinda talk to me." Everything was coming out , like when one feels sick and everything comes up.

"Then his older brother comes over and tells them to stop, and tells me he'll take me home. That he just had to stop at his house. And I should go into his house for a minute just in case they followed me. But… he dragged me to his room and…"

"Enough," Snape said. Even the mild potion wasn't working to stop the emotions; the boy started talking faster and started crying again.

"Here," Madam Pomfrey said, handing Harry a second vile. "It'll increase the potency of the first potion, but not too much. Ok?"

Harry downed it quickly, wanting the fear to go away, and within moments, felt better. But he felt drowsy…

"Harry, don't go to sleep yet, ok?"

But he couldn't stay awake; he was so tired. A strong arm around him was the last thing he registered before sleep claimed him.

McGonagall stood there, silent tears spilling down her cheeks.

"How could we have not known?" The healer whispered, wiping her own tears away.

Snape lay Harry down.

A small child. How could anyone do that?

"What do we do with him?" Snape asked.

"I have a private bed in my room for… well for really bad cases. I could put him in there for the night."

"That would be best. Will you take care of him, Poppy?" Albus asked.

She nodded.

"We need to discuss this. McGonagall… Severus. My office?"

The pair nodded and followed the headmaster out, both sparing a glance at the boy as they left.

-Chapter End-

* * *

><p><strong>AN<strong>: Omg…. I feel so bad for torturing Harry like that XP

Please, if you have any comments feel free to leave them. Criticism is welcome, flames are not. I did warn you before the beginning of the chapter, so don't be angry with me.


	6. Chapter 6

My Dear Readers:

I am SOOO sorry but another update does not seem imminent. It will happen, but it could take me a little while longer.

I just wanted to let you know that I have not given up on this, merely trying to maintain the level of what I've written so far.

I completely understand if you want to throw rocks at me or shoot me with arrows (lol, both a Skyrim and a Hunger Games reference lol) but please bare with me.

I will also admit that I have a bad case of writers block, and that I'm not sure what should happen next. If anyone has suggestions (because this is basically fan made for fanfiction fans) Let me know and I will do my best to appease your appetites.

Yours Truly,

Die Schreiber

UPDATE!

The next chapter is actually available, so ignore this one and proceed onwards!


	7. Chapter 7

**AN**: Oh dear crap XP I'm sooooo sorry

With school starting, a new job, and dozens of random issues this has taken so long to get out. I apologize SO MUCH!  
>I know nothing will ever suffice, but here's the next chapter XP<p>

I promise to finish this story no matter what, even if it does take some time.

To _LM Ryder_, I'm really sorry, but I don't have it in me to do bashing on anyone other character(s) than the Dursleys… I love them too much XP As for the rest of it, I shall try my best to appease you :D

_TeaAndCrumpetsIfYouPlease_, I hope this chapter answers some of your questions

_Deadwinds, Torry-Riddle, Hope06, Thatsallwegot, omgitskirby_, Thank you so much for your comments! They are much appreciated!

And to anyone else out there still reading, previously commented, or anything, THANK YOU FOR VIEWING AND I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS!

**Quick note**: I had to change some of the timing of the events of the book to suit this chapter, for those of you who pay attention to the details like that.

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing; all rights belong to JK Rowling and Warner… and stuff

**Warning**: This chapter is completely non-graphic. Talk of abuse and non-con/rape

* * *

><p>-Chapter Six-<p>

-=Bad Dreams and Hospital Beds=-

Dumbledore poured himself a very large glass of dark liquid; brandy by Snape's assumption.

For the first few minutes, all three adults sat quietly, one sipping a numbing drink, one squeezing her hands tightly, causing them to turn white, and the third silently fuming.

Minerva was the first to speak.

"What do we do with him?" She asked, looking to the headmaster. "We can't let him go back to that place."

Snape didn't even bother sneering at her, just nodded.

"We won't need to worry about his housing situation so soon. He has months before the end of the school year. We need to worry about his… health first."

"Should we take him to Saint Mungo's?" Minerva asked. Her expression disagreed with her statement, though.

"No, that would only lead to further problems." The eldest wizard sighed.

"Perhaps we should just keep things normal for him." Snape added after a few moments of silence. "Obviously taking care to speak with him time to time, and require of him checkups in the hospital wing."

"But how could we act like nothing happened?" Minerva asked. "He needs to talk about it."

Dumbledore shook his head. As good as the deputy headmistress' intentions were, they seemed to lead in the opposite direction.

"If we make such a big deal of it, Harry will only feel worse."

"But we can't let him go about this alone!"

"Then would you speak to him?" Snape asked her. "Are you willing to listen as he tells you what has happened?"

For a moment, McGonagall's face seemed to match the green of her robes. "If that is what takes for him to get better, then I will."

Though he may not like the Gryffindor attitude of 'bravery', the way they looked after their own was something Severus admired; though he would never say so aloud.

"I think it would be most beneficial to let him speak to whichever teacher he wished." Dumbledore finally interjected. "Let him find the one he is most comfortable with?"

The other two nodded.

Dumbledore sighed, leaning back in the chair. "Then so be it. Severus, a moment?" The headmaster asked as the two teachers rose from their seats.

Minerva gave a slight bow of her head before she left the pair in the office.

"I think it would be best if you kept an eye on him…" Dumbledore said slowly, gauging the potion master's minimal reactions.

"If I may, sir." Severus said tightly. "I do not think it would be best for me to be the one to observe him.

I admit that I am… conflicted with my attitudes towards the boy. I am not sure I could keep my bias in check…"

A small smile crossed the old man's face. "That is precisely why I would like for you to watch him. You will not look at him like he is a victim, and see his every action as a consequence of these unfortunate events. I trust that you would see him for what he still is; a boy with different problems than some of the other students."

Severus had to hand it to the headmaster, he always thought these things out well.  
>"I will watch him," he sighed, a little more irritation lining his words than he meant. "But I do not intend to get any further into his business than I already have. I fear that I have given the child a false belief that I care for him." He turned from the desk.<p>

"You don't?" The older man asked, leaning forward in his chair to get the nearly empty cup.

"I was just doing things the other teachers hadn't the time or attention for. Even if he is a troublesome child, I would not leave anyone to suffer like that." He replied quietly, then left the room before the other wizard could reply.

As the door shut, Dumbledore smiled and sipped the last of his drink. Even if Severus saw his actions as mechanically necessary, there would have to have been heart behind them to have acted himself and not pushed the responsibility off onto another teacher.

* * *

><p>Harry's absence in the common room that night went fairly unnoticed. By fairly, three redheaded boys and one bushy haired girl sat on the couches in front of the fire, glancing hopefully at the picture frame. When the rest of the students made their way to their beds, the four worried students remained.<p>

"Maybe he's sick or something?" Hermione said, gathering what few assignments she had finished and holding them against her chest. "I… I think we should go to bed. There's no sense in all of us being so tired we can't visit him tomorrow…" The expression she wore, however, betrayed her words.

With that, Hermione left the common room, walking slowly; she glanced once back to the picture frame, then disappeared from sight.

"Come on, Ron," Fred sighed, hefting himself up. "It won't help to have you stay here all night…"

Ron nodded silently, standing as well.

Fred and George shared a small glance.

The twins were notorious for knowing what the other was thinking without saying anything. Often they finished each other's sentences. So the small glances or gestures they shared never found their way to anyone's attention.

"Since when are you so quiet?" George asked, shaking his brother's shoulder lightly.

The youngest Weasley boy finally looked up. He was trying so hard to hold back the tears. His nose had turned red, and his bottom lip quivered.

Fred and George used to make fun of Ron for crying. When they were younger, Ron was actually a crybaby. It was usually a lot of fun teasing him, and afterwards they would comfort him in a casual way, distracting their baby brother. Hell, they still teased him, but it had been a few years since he'd looked this upset.

"Ron," Fred kneeled in front of the youngest. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"I know why Harry isn't here…" He finally whispered, his voice cracking.

"It's probably just an accident. You know he's prone to getting in trouble…" George added.

"Not this time…" Ron met their eyes. He wiped his eyes vigorously. "How was I supposed to know? How did he hide it that well?"

"Hide what?" George asked softly, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"His relatives… the muggles he lives with…" Ron sniffed, "They were hitting him and stuff. His uncle broke his wrist… and there was a note and I think Snape knows because he was talking to him and that's where Harry was and…"

"Calm down," Fred said sharply. "Deep breaths, ok?"

The younger boy nodded his head, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his robe and breathed in and out slowly.

"Now what about Snape knowing?"

"I gave Snape a note that Harry wrote… and I don't know if the note was true or not but… Harry hasn't been back since and I think it must have been true."

George hesitated.

Part of him wanted to know what was on the note; if it was serious enough for the Dungeon Master to take Harry, a Gryffindor and the most hated student, then it must have been…

But part of him felt that it was sick to find out something so personal.

Fred made the decision for him. "What did the note say?"

Ron shook his head, his face suddenly turning green. "Just stuff about how life was at his… those people's house."

There was a long silence, and only the crackle of the dying fire in the fireplace could be heard.

"If the Proffesor has him, then he's being taken care of…" George said.

Fred nodded, "He will be fine with the adults helping."

Ron sighed, but nodded.

"Come on, let's go to bed."

The three somber brothers made their way up the stairs, each to a non-inviting bed and a troubled sleep.

* * *

><p>Harry woke to a very uncomfortable feeling; the sheets on his bed were wet. When he realized what had happened, he jumped up, only to realize he wasn't even in his dorm.<p>

He looked around the empty room. He was in the bed next to Madam Pomfrey's office, a secluded room.

At least he had that much.

He looked around for extra clothes, blankets, but the room only held the bed and a small stand.

A soft knock on the door caused the boy to freeze.

"D-don't come in!" Harry shouted, pulling the blankets together to try to hide his accident.

A few unbidden memories surfaced, his uncle finding him at one point after a similar accident and shoving him into the bathroom. That was only a few days after…

"Harry?" Madam Pomfrey asked as she opened the door.

The dark haired boy froze, staring wide eyed at her. He dropped the blankets from his hands. "I, uh…" He thought frantically of an excuse, anything would do.

She shook her head, her face impassive as she pushed him towards the other door in the room. "Just change, dear…"

Harry frowned, "Into what?"  
>She smiled slightly and pointed to the clothes on the counter. "Take a shower, though." Before he could say anything else, she shut the door and left.<p>

Thankful that she didn't make a big deal about it, Harry stripped the clothes from his body, turned the water on as hot as he could, then scrubbed his entire body down.

When Harry finished, dressed in a very new pair of robes, he walked from the bathroom, trying to smooth his hair down some. No amount of flattening helped, though.

"Oh, Harry dear," she said, bustling towards the side table to set a tray of potions down.

Harry eyed it warily.

"Oh, don't worry dear," she laughed slightly. "You only need to take these." She held out two smaller vials. "The rest are for the other students."

Harry took them, setting on the new bed linens. "How many people… know that I'm here?" He asked.

The medi-witch sighed lightly, patting his shoulder. "You shouldn't worry so much about what others are thinking, child."

Harry scoffed, nearly coughing out the first potion as he tried to drink it. "It's the paper I'm worried about," he said, after clearing his throat.

She shook her head, taking the empty potion bottle. "What will be explained is you had the 24 hour muggle flu. Just needed to keep you isolated long enough, as many of the students haven't had it."

More lies Harry had to remember, but he shrugged it off for the moment.

"About what I said…" he started, and she shook her head. "Not now. That is something you need to talk about with the headmaster, Harry."

Harry shifted uncomfortably, drinking the second one.

"This doesn't all have to come out at once." She finally said, looking the boy in the eyes. "You have the rest of the school year here to be comfortable, to relax. You can talk to us at your pace, and only if you want to."

"What happens… at the end of the school year I mean?" Harry asked as he rubbed his arm.

"That will be between you and the headmaster as well, Harry." She said, picking up a rather small pot of putrid smelling paste. "Now, do you think you could take your shirt off for me?" She asked.

"What?" The sudden question surprised him.

"I need to make sure the open wounds heal. There may be a few remaining scars, but they shouldn't be too visible."

He nodded, slowly slipping the robes and shirt off. "Um, how did you know what size I wear?" Harry asked, laying them on the bed.

"It was a guess, really. You are getting so tall," she smiled lightly, motioning him to turn around. He didn't see her smile falter, though, thankfully. She held a sigh in, wanting nothing more than to grab the child and hug him, but knowing that the best course of action was to act as if he would be ok. To let him own his scars, to let him heal and hurt from it, no matter how much she wanted to make it all go away.

She applied the salve, and much to Harry's surprise it relieved the pain almost instantly.

"If you think you can do it, I will need you to apply this twice a day. Definitely after you bathe, as it needs to be cleaned, either in the morning or the evening. The second time will be opposite in the day of your shower…" she said, and the overly think boy nodded.

"Also," she said, placing the small pot onto the bed, "I would like for you to eat more." She said. "Even if it's a little more each day, I expect you to gain some weight, Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded, slipping his clothes back on. The salve had seemingly evaporated, as his shirt didn't stick to his back, and the smell was gone as well.

"It should be better in the next two or three weeks, depending on your state of health." She said, picking the tray back up.

"My state of health?" Harry asked.

"If you are eating right, sleeping well, and do not get sick." She replied, walking to the door.

"Again," He gave a smile, and she gave a short laugh. "Yes, again. Now, you may go back to the main hall, as breakfast should be starting soon. If you have any problems, feel free to talk to one of your teachers, Harry. You may come here, if you wish, too."

The teen nodded.  
>"I'll have this taken to your dorms and put in your trunk," She said, then walked out of the room.<p>

* * *

><p>Breakfast was no small event. Both Ron and Hermione bombarded him with questions, and neither seemed satisfied with the answers. Thankfully, Professor McGonagall announced that the teachers would be in the halls for the students to go to their classes, and the students all stood, heading towards their destinations.<p>

Harry was slightly pleased that he had DADA first thing that morning. Even if his day wasn't going well, Professor Lupin always kept things interesting enough to draw his mind off anything else.

On the way to the class, Hermione seemed to have vanished. Ron shrugged it off, saying she did it often lately and was probably on her way to the library to check out more books.

Harry laughed, agreeing with him.

Oliver Wood stopped him in the hall suddenly. "There you are!" He exclaimed, grabbing Harry's shoulder. "Why haven't you been to practice? We have to play Hufflepuff this weekend!"

Harry froze; he'd completely forgotten about Quidditch. "I was, uh, really sick…" he replied, hoping that Oliver would believe him (and calm down a little. Poor Oliver looked like he was about to explode!)

"You're well enough to play this weekend, right?" He asked fervently as the students thinned out and the teachers were telling them to hurry.

"Of course!" Harry replied, glancing around. "I really have to get to class…"

Wood sighed, but let him go and trudged to his first class.

Harry, though, ran. He was glad he had DADA first thing that morning, as Professor Lupin never gave his students detention for being late.

When he threw the door open and began apologizing, he froze.

Professor Snape sat at the teacher's desk, staring at him with a cold glare.

"The class began ten minutes ago," he said, standing from the desk. "Ten points from Gryffindor."

Harry groaned inwardly, but took his seat.

That class, and the classes for the next few days, went by uneventfully.

Harry began feeling better, the events of the hospital wing slowly fading as if they had never really happened.

Besides a few concerning stares from the Transfiguration's Professor, it really did seem like a dream.

Practice the night before the Quidditch match was just what he needed. Harry had forgotten the freedom and overall amazing feeling he got. Though he strayed from Wood's practice calls every once in awhile, he did well. Not even the incessant raining did anything to dampen the feeling.

When Harry went to bed that night after a hot shower, he fell asleep almost immediately.

When Harry woke it was still dark. He wasn't sure if the storm had woke him, or the nightmare.

Neither were contributing to a good morning, however.

When he looked at his wristwatch, it read four in the morning.

He groaned, not wanting to go back to sleep, so he left the warm covers of his bed and headed down the stairs.

Not only had Professor Snape assigned a long essay for his potion's class, but he had assigned a long one for DADA as well. So for the next three hours he set about finishing them.

When other students began coming down the stairs, he packed the parchments up and changed, ready for the match with Hufflepuff.

* * *

><p>Madam Pomfrey was angry.<br>No, scratch that. She was beyond angry. Excusing Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick (as neither of them knew about Harry's recent visit to the hospital wing), none of the other teachers had remembered that Harry was on the Gryffindor Quidditch team until they all stood out there in the rain watching him fly his broom.

If she had remembered, she would have banned him.

Now, due to their negligence, Harry Potter lay in a hospital bed for the second time that week.

As much as she wanted to yell at him, she didn't. Not with how things had been going so far.

She just wanted to keep him overnight, claiming she needed to watch for a concussion or other injuries that hadn't made themselves known yet.

In truth, however, she was worried about him. He hadn't talked to anyone yet, and though it had barely been a few days, she felt the urge to make him talk and open up.

Just as she was about to approach him, however, Professor Lupin came in.

"I heard you had quite a fall." He smiled.

Harry noted the man's pale face and the bags underneath his eyes. "It's nice to see you," He pulled himself into a sitting position. "I'm sure the rest of the DADA class feels the same," he laughed.

Lupin gave a smile. "I've heard Professor Snape has been giving you a hard time in my absence."

"A large essay's worth." The boy replied. "Are you feeling well now?"

"Better," Lupin admitted, sitting in the chair beside Harry's cot. "What happened with you today?"

"You weren't there?"

"Still in my room, unfortunately." He replied.

Harry nodded his understanding.

"I heard the dementors were within school bounds." Lupin said carefully. "I take it that was the cause for your fall?"

Harry nodded, his legs automatically pulling closer to his body as he clenched the covers in his hands.

"No more visitors," Madam Pomfrey said, noticing the boy's defenses kicking in.

It was probably too soon to talk to him.

Lupin smiled, patting Harry's knee as he stood. "Shall we discuss this on Monday?" He asked.

"Why not tomorrow?" The young wizard asked.

"Ah," Lupin sighed. "I think it was too early for me to have left my bed. I think I'll have to rest all day tomorrow, now."

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault." Lupin smiled again. "It was my own decision. I'll see you Monday."

"Good night, professor." Harry said as he watched the DADA teacher leave.

Madam Pomfrey checked Harry one last time, then ordered him to drink a potion and sleep.

Harry obeyed, and without much effort afterwards, fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

><p>So, I hope that pleases you guys. Please comment if you so feel, and let me know what you think!<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

**AN**: Soooo… you're not gonna kill me, right? I hope not XP I'm extremely sorry for not posting sooner, but I'll give no excuses.

Just a quick heads up, I've decided staying as canon as possible isn't well… possible. Thus, my story veers here.

The twins will wait to give Harry the map, so he does not hear the conversation between the professors about Sirius Black.

**Warnings**: Nothing graphic in this chapter.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any recognizable characters, nor the original plot. This skewed plot it of my own creation, though I do not claim it as much as this is how I picture things as they could have gone.

**-Chapter Seven-**

**-=Pockets Stuffed with Sweet Rolls=-**

* * *

><p>Harry hadn't slept well. In fact, after the last dementor attack and talking to Professor Lupin, Harry seemed to only have gotten two to three hours of sleep a day.<p>

By the time classes began that Monday morning, it started taking its toll.

The first three classes, Harry did relatively all right.

Potions didn't go too well, as he botched the potion and managed to outdo Seamus' worst explosion, though Professor Snape managed to flick his wand just in time to avoid disaster.

At first, when the Professor didn't say anything about his 'negligence' or 'ineptitude,' Harry frowned.

The teachers were all treating him… different. As though he were frail and about to break.

He scoffed to himself at that. If he really were frail, he probably wouldn't be alive…

Again, the odd though came unbidden to his mind. What was with his interest in death?

Harry sighed, trudging towards the tower. He didn't feel hungry at the moment, and he was sure even one of Madam Pomfrey's nutritional potions wouldn't help.

He didn't feel like talking to Lupin again. Once he'd told his professor about seeing his mother murdered every time the dementors came near him, the man looked physically pained.

As much as he respected McGonagall, he wasn't sure he felt like talking to her.

Professor Dumbledore… he couldn't really talk to that man about much. He never seemed to help, just make things more difficult to understand.

Harry didn't want to figure this out himself… he didn't feel like spending time going over the events in his head.

He wanted someone to tell him what to do.

He stopped halfway to the portrait, gripping his bag tightly.

Snape would tell him what he should do. Most of the time it rolled off his tongue like he'd prepared the speech long ago.

Turning on his heel, determined to get this over with but dreading it all the same, Harry made his way down to the potions lab.

The third year wasn't sure if the man were still there, but if his assumptions were correct, then Snape was probably still cleaning messes up.

The door was cracked open, only a little, but just enough to see a flickering light inside.

Harry moved forward hesitantly, reaching forward.

His hand froze, and he stood there, doubts floating throughout his mind.

"The door won't open itself, Mr. Potter." Came a cool, calm voice.

"And I highly doubt you can manage to open it with a spell, wand or no."

Harry turned to see Professor Snape standing behind him, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised in curiosity.

"To what do I owe this visit?"

Harry's hand fell, as did his head.

"I… don't know…" Harry started, but paused.

"You don't know why you're here?"

The boy shook his head.

"I don't know what to do."

'That was quicker than expected,' Snape thought, his arms falling from their place.

"About what? Your homework? I daresay you have enough textbooks to answer the essays…"

"No…" Harry said, his voice raising and his eyebrows scrunching together.

'Like a child…' Snape thought.

"Then what?"

Silence.

"We don't have all night, Mr. Potter. Speak up. I have things to do, perhaps your head of house or… Professor Lupin could help you." He worded his sentence carefully. Don't force it out of the boy.

At least, not conspicuously.

"NO!" The boy yelled, surprising both his professor and himself.

"I don't know… what I need to do… I…" tears began falling down the boy's cheeks.

Merlin, he was such a baby, but he couldn't control them. He had to ask for help.

"I don't want to hurt…" he clutched his shirt, just over his heart.

Snape frowned at Harry. Was the boy in that much pain still?

He shook that thought away, of course he was.

'I still have my memories…' Snape thought.

"Come inside," Snape sighed, motioning the boy to the classroom.

The pair went inside.

Harry sat in one of the front seats, setting his bag onto the desk and looking at his lap.

His professor proceeded to clean the board, straighten his desk, and a few other small things before Harry spoke up.

"I know I'm safe here… that he won't come."

"He's a muggle, after all." Snape confirmed.

"But these memories… they still hurt."

Snape watched the young boy a moment before walking forward to stand in front of the desk, letting the boy keep that barrier.

"Memories are meant to evoke emotions, Mr. Potter. That is how we remember them the clearest."

Harry looked up, a sad and desperate look on his face.

"I don't want to remember it. Any of it. If this is what I have to feel…"

"I cannot fathom the reason you had to go through that…" Professor Snape started. "Nor the reason for anything else that has happened. But you have a choice. Let it rule you, make you into a shell of what you are, or you can let it make you stronger."

Harry clenched his fists. He understood what the professor was trying to say, but it sounded… too philosophical. It sounded like something Dumbledore would say.

"So what exactly am I supposed to do?" He glared up, tears still making their way down his cheeks periodically. "Just sit here and pretend it never happened?"

"Of course not."

"Then what!?"

Snape growled, looking the boy in the eye. "Make sure at the end of the day that it doesn't stop you from continuing."

"Easy for you to say!" Harry yelled, standing up and throwing his arms out.

"Sit. Down." Snape said, dangerously quiet.

Harry obeyed, the scowl remaining on his face.

The professor began unbuttoning one of his sleeves, popping each button slowly.

"Everyone has some bad experience in their life they do not wish to remember. Be it an embarrassing moment or a belt."

The boy visibly flinched at the word.

Snape pulled his sleeve up, exposing his arm.

On the forearm were many scars, from cuts to burns.

"Some of these my father gifted me when he was unhappy or drunk. Mostly both."

Harry stared with sick apprehension.

The older man pulled his sleeve down. "Many people share the same scars as you, Potter. Many people have the same, horrid memories and the same sad wishes. All we can do is go about our days and be thankful that time is over.

It teaches many of us that what has happened was wrong, that it should not be done to others. It teaches most of us to treat others better, and to cherish those we love. What happens is not fair, and can't be forgotten."

"Then why are you still mean." Harry asked.

Snape's anger didn't flare. He was a little amused, in fact, by Harry's forward question.

"Some of us don't learn until it's too late. Until the behaviors and thoughts are so ingrained into us that we cannot change them without extraneous effort. By then, it is nearly hopeless. You see, Mr. Potter, if you choose to let the pain rule you, you will end up much like the people who hurt you. And what's worse, is you won't manage to care very much."

Harry raised his eyes from Snape's now buttoned sleeve.

"Give it some time… while you are here at the school, you are safe." The professor said.

Harry gave him a half nod, still unsure about the whole prospect of things, but accepting it nonetheless.

"Now it is nearly past curfew, Mr. Potter. Unless you intend to spend the night in my quarters, I suggest you be on your way."

Snape looked up from his desk, reaching for a book as he said this.

"Can I?"

"You'll have to articulate a little better…" The Potions teacher said flatly.

"Can I stay?"

Nearly dropping the book , Snape cleared his throat.

Did this child think he was going to coddle him?

Despite understanding the boy was feeling vulnerable, and perhaps even a scary teacher such as himself could protect him well, Snape's patience was wearing thin.

"No, Mr. Potter. You have school in the morning, and I have much to do before I can retire."

Looking slightly dejected, Harry's head fell. He took his bag and stood, slinging it over his shoulder. "Goodnight…"

"Goodnight, sir." Snape corrected.

"Sir…" Harry copied, then left quietly.

* * *

><p>Harry watched his friends leave for Hogsmeade, waving and smiling.<p>

When he could no longer see the bushy haired girl or the red haired boy, he tucked his hands into his pockets.

Perhaps he could go visit Hagrid. The prospect of talking to the man seemed to be a good idea, so the boy made his way through the castle, down the grounds, to the large hut.

He looked around, sure that he felt someone watching him; although, he had to admit, he was always watched.

A quick glance back to the castle told him no one was there, so he shrugged the feeling off.

He knocked on the door, and waited.

No one answered.

Assuming Hagrid was busy, Harry began making his way back when he heard loud laughter. Three boys were walking around the forest line.

Draco and two lackeys, (both of which Harry could not remember names for) were making their way towards the hut.

Hoping not to be seen, Harry started for the path.

"Well, if it isn't the Gryffindor failure. Did you not have detention today, or are you skipping." Draco called, a sneer spreading across his unpleasant face.

His hand finding his wand immediately, Harry chose to ignore the boy and continue up the steps.

"We're talking to you," the skinnier of the lackeys said, and when Harry ignored them again, he heard someone cast a foot-binding hex.

Harry tripped, his hand flying from his wand in his pocket to stop himself from smashing face first into the stone steps.

Laughter and fast footsteps crunching in the snow notified Harry they were coming. He rolled over, getting his wand quickly from his pants pocket and pulling it up.

Draco cast a disarming spell, however, and his wand went flying.

The blonde Slytherin crouched in front of Harry, eyebrow raised. "And here I thought you were a better duelist than that…"

Harry glared. "I just prefer not to waste my efforts on those that don't deserve it…"

Draco glared, standing again, pointing his wand. "Perhaps we should show you who is really stronger…"

A loud bark to the tree line informed the group of a large, mangy looking black dog.

The creature pawed forward slowly teeth bared, head lowered and hackles raised.

The two boys trailing Draco ran first, slipping on the icy steps as they made their way towards the castle.

Draco started out behind them, only to find the animal had pounced on Draco, its teeth close to the boy's neck.

Harry, sure the animal planned on attacking, struggled to sit up and grab his wand.

A sweet roll lay by Draco's side, having fallen from his pocket.

Harry reached forward slowly, the animal looking to him and growling.

The brunette took the roll and held it as close as he dared to the animal's face. "G-get it." He tossed the roll, and the black dog leapt from the blonde boy and chased the food down.

Harry grabbed his wand, muttering a counter curse to free his legs.

He tugged on the Slytherin's arm. "Get up," he whispered.

The dog looked back to the pair, growling louder and ready to run forward.

"What are you…" Draco slapped at Harry's hand as the Gryffindor reached into the other's coat pocket.

Producing more food, Harry threw two more sweet rolls at the dog, feet apart.

"Come on…" Harry grabbed Draco's forearm and pulled the other boy behind him, hurrying up the steps.

They made it halfway to the castle when three teachers came rushing from behind stone walls, wands raised.

"Potter, Malfoy," Lupin called, stopping the boys and looking them over. Professors Flitwick and Sprout hurried past, towards Hagrid's hut.

"What happened?" Lupin asked, straightening when he found no damage, except the ruin of Malfoy's coat.

"It just came out of nowhere, professor." Draco spoke first, sending Harry a hateful glare.

Harry, too happy to be alive to care what story the teachers got, nodded.

"We saw it and tried to inform Potter when the thing attacked me. The rabid beast…"

"What did it look like? The other boys were babbling about a black wolf…"

"It wasn't a wolf, sir." Harry said finally. "It was a black dog… large looking, and its fur was matted and messy."

Something dawned in Lupin's eyes, his breathing hitched.

Flitwick and Sprout walked back up the steps. "There were only tracks leading into the forest…" the Herbology teacher stated.

"I'll take these two back into the castle," Lupin said finally, "Make sure they get up there safely."

The Charms professor nodded.

"Come with me," Lupin whispered, tugging the sleeves of the boys to start back.

The three walked in absolute silence, Draco sparing Harry one dirty glance before they made it inside the warm walls.

"Go to your respective dorms, please." Lupin said, brushing snow from himself. "I'll speak to the headmaster."

He left the two students standing by the door.

"Why didn't you tell him." Draco asked. The blue eyes locked with green, and the pair stared at each other a moment.

"It wasn't important…" Harry shrugged, the first to look away. "Besides, I was just happy to be alive." He admitted.

Draco frowned, but said nothing.

Without another word, the pair split, making their way to their respective dorms.

* * *

><p>Ron walked silently beside Hermione. While at the Three Broomsticks, they had overheard a conversation between the professors about the escaped criminal. At first, they didn't care enough to listen intently, but when Harry had been mentioned, they paid attention.<p>

When the moment McGonagall stated that Black was Harry's godfather, Ron choked on his butterbeer and Hermione gasped.

After that, the joy of the day kind of died.

"Should we… you know… tell him?" Hermione asked, hugging the bag of goodies she had bought tighter to her chest.

"And say what?" Ron asked. "Oh, sorry your aunt and uncle beat you and your parents died. Oh, by the way, the killer out to get you is actually your godfather." The boy scrunched his face as he said this.

They continued in silence, cold wind whipped against their faces and attempted to tear the scarves from their necks.

"But we can't quite hide it, either." She said softly.

"Have you seen him lately!?" Ron exclaimed, throwing his arms up.

A few of the other students looked back, laughing at Ron.

"Hush…" Hermione hissed.

"Well have you?" He whispered. "He is sullen and withdrawn. He hardly eats anymore, and drinks more potions than my uncle used to. If we tell him this, don't you think it would hurt him?"

Hermione frowned, a tear streaking down her face.

How was any of this fair? The last two years Harry seemed a right riot, always getting in trouble and playing around.

How had this last summer changed him so much? She was sure his uncle hadn't made any of the punishments, (she hesitated over the word) any more severe…

"Maybe we can talk to him?" Hermione asked.

The light of the castle was approaching, something everyone seemed grateful for.

"Little steps first…" She added. "Ask him to talk about… it."

Ron shrugged, blowing warm air into his hands.

He wished he could see his mum and dad… talk to them even. They always knew what to do.

* * *

><p>Dumbledore stared out the window, watching as a group of (from this height) looked like snow ants making their way back to the castle.<p>

He remained silent, thinking over what the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had just told him.

"Can you be sure it was him?" Dumbledore asked, returning his gaze back to the man sitting in front of him.

"The boys described his animagus…" Lupin admitted. The knot in his stomach tightened even more. How close Harry had come…

"Then I shall tell all of the staff about this." The old man said, standing.

Lupin stood as well, and the pair left the office, the dying embers of the fireplace popping loudly.

"Well," a portrait said, stretching his arms. He glanced towards the right, looking far past where the frame ended.

"Perhaps we should warn him?" He said to someone. He smiled, glancing to the window himself.

Sometimes the living could miss the oh so obvious.

**Chapter End**:

**AN**: All righty kiddies. So I'm officially alive, and continuing this wonderfully stubborn story. (Get the sarcasm ;) I'm sorry this chapter was so short, but it was quite necessary for the next set of events, and if I hadn't cut if off there, this chapter might not have been up for another week or so... so my pity outweighed the length XP

As always, feel free to rate, comment or PM me.


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